Blood and Water
by Stealth Dragon
Summary: Danny's father posseses a dangerous peice of evidence that has put both men's lives in danger. Read extended summary for details. Rated for violence, because I'm a violent writer.
1. Prologue

A/N: Howdy all you Danny fans! Stealth Dragon here with another exciting and disturbing CSI tale coming to you straight from the dark recesses of my brain – of which there are many. The story you are about to read has been a practical plague to me, pushing and shoving its way through into being written. I was going to wait before doing it since it deals with that aspect of Danny's life that we have yet to know much about... until later episodes that may make this story obsolete. But I couldn't wait anymore, I was having too much fun with this idea. So much angst!

Anywho, I suppose you could consider this story an A/U, but personally I don't. I put it together by gleaning and morphing facts that we know concerning Danny and his 'colorful' family background. Though many people are doing stories in which Danny's father is abusive, I get the impression from the show that he and his dad get along pretty well. But that's just my opinion, I could be highly wrong. So, for the sake of this story, I have gone with Danny and his dad having a good relationship.

I am assuming that Danny comes from a crime family of some sort, but I'm going to be vague on the details since I don't know much concerning crime families and what-not. I may be a tad cliché on some things, but it shouldn't be too bad. Besides, it's not really important in the long run, except to say that the Messers (excluding Danny, of course) are part of some crime syndicate and its ruining their lives at the moment.

I suppose you could consider this whole story some kind of spoiler, too -but like I know what's going to happen in the next couple of episodes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. And I must warn you that chapters may be slow coming. I'm taking my sweet time with this one.

So much angst!

**Blood and Water**

Author: Stealth Dragon

Rating: T (pg-13) for violence, especially towards Danny. Scene of child abuse in the prologue.

Disclaimer: I do **not**, by any means, own CSI New York or it's characters. Although Carmine Giovinozzo whose last name I probably just spelled wrong is an actor, therefore, one might say, he's up for grabs. In fact, I've been using him as a basis for several of my own character creations. The character he plays on CSI NY, I do not use or own.

Synopsis extended: Danny's life is in danger when his father becomes the possessor of a piece of evidence that could put away a dangerous crime family. Should his father hand the evidence over, Danny dies. If he doesn't, he goes to prison where rivals are seeking his life. For both men, blood is thicker than water, and they will do anything to keep the other safe; even forfeit their own lives.

Prologue

New York 1986

Calvin Messer hunched his shoulders against the sheet of rain pounding at his back and sending rivulets of water coursing down his face. He moved at a steady trot through the flooded sidewalk splashing water onto the cuffs of his pants. He was being careful about his pace, keeping it short and preventing his longer legs from entangling with the smaller legs of his son jogging in front of him. Calvin was partially hunched over his boy to spare him the best he could from being drenched. The kid hadn't brought a jacket to the game, but Calvin wasn't about to chew him out for it. The day hadn't started out like this. Heck, it hadn't even been cloudy up until the second inning.

But when the rain did finally come – directly at the end of the game – it had come as though someone had ripped open the clouds like popping a massive water balloon. It was already soaked through Calvin's own jacket and clothes, but had drenched Danny in a minute. On top of that, the temperature had dropped a notch, evening was coming fast, and Danny was visibly shivering.

Cars rolling past sprayed the already water-logged sidewalk in small tidal waves. Calvin, his hands on Danny's shoulders, steered himself and his boy closer to the walls of the apartment complex they were running alongside. Calvin studied the building at a glance. It wasn't much, most likely occupied by low income people. Calvin wasn't normally a judgmental guy, but the building – heck, the whole neighborhood – was making him nervous. No one else was out, the streetlights were dim, and the few stores that were open were of the kind he would never take his son into, not even to get out of the rain. Calvin was sorry to say that it was the type of neighborhood where people normally got mugged.

When they came to the next apartment complex, Calvin guided Danny onto the stoop and out of the rain. The rain was so thick that Calvin could barely see the streets, and the rushing whisper of cars passing by became lost in the hiss and patter of the water. He squinted, wiping water from his face, then ran his hand over his light-brown hair, feeling drops tickling down the back of his neck. He looked down at Danny. The kid had his wiry arms folded tightly against his skinny chest, and his shoulders hunched forward. He was shaking so bad that Calvin could hear the kid's teeth chattering even over the rain. Calvin shrugged out of his sopping jacket and placed it over the boy's thin shoulders. The jacket was big on the kid, and wasn't doing much good.

Danny wasn't a small kid, more average height that was neither too tall or too short. He was thin in the way that boy's his age tended to be; all muscle and bone without any fat. He was an athletic kid, and would remain slender all his life if he remained as active as he was.

He was smart, too. A fast learner who took a quick interest even when he feigned boredom. Calvin was proud of his kid's love of sports, but more proud that he had smarts enough as backup should baseball not pan out.

Calvin squeezed his son's shoulder. " Hang on, kid, I'm lookin' for a taxi."

Danny could only nod, too tense to even move his mouth. Calvin had hoped to make it to the subway, but that was still three blocks off, and the air was getting a little too crisp.

From now on, Danny was carrying a jacket where ever he went. Maybe even a rain coat to boot.

Calvin craned his neck looking up the street, trying to catch a glimpse of yellow that signified a taxi. He ruffled his son's blond, spiky head.

" Danny, stay here and don't move. I'm gonna see what I can flag down."

Again, Danny could only nod.

Calvin trotted from the stoop and stood on the very edge of the sidewalk. He raised his hand, and shouted above the driving rain.

" Taxi! Hey, Taxi, yo!"

Something slowed, pulling up to the curb, but without the tell-tale yellow of a regular cab. The driver rolled down his window and leaned onto the passenger seat to speak with Calvin. He was a young guy, probably thirty, with black hair receding from his forehead and a black goatee. He was dressed in faded jeans, a ratty looking black T-shirt, and a dark blue jacket.

" Need a ride pal?" the guy asked. Then he smiled, flashing a gold tooth. " Cheaper than a regular hack."

" Gypsy cab?" Calvin asked. He'd heard of them, and most of what he had heard was that they were indeed a lot cheaper than the regular fare. Calvin shrugged. " Sure, why the hell not." He glanced over his shoulder. " Hey Danny, come on. I got us a ride."

Danny hurried down the steps and ran splashing to the cab. Calvin opened the passenger door and let his son climb in first, crawling to the other side. Calvin followed and practically melted into the seat of the warm, dry interior, letting out a moan of relief.

" Oh now that's the stuff. Hey, thanks, pal. Sorry if we get your seats wet."

The cab driver shrugged. " Hey, no problem. Where too?"

Calvin gave the man his address. The driver nodded once, then pulled away from the curb. Calvin tilted his head back against the seat, reveling in the absence of any water trying to beat him down. He opened one eye to check on his son. Danny still twitched with occasional shivers, but was relatively relaxed and thawing.

" You have fun, Danny?" Calvin asked. Danny looked up at him and nodded vigorously, all smiles.

" Yeah, that was awesome pop! Did you see that one guy hit it over the wall? And those guys that were fightin' over the ball...?"

Calvin chuckled. Didn't matter what activity they did together, there was no wearing Danny down. The kid was a living, breathing perpetual motion machine, forever going faster, never slowing down. Even now he was gesturing wildly as he spoke, talking about the pitcher's form and how he wished he had an arm like that.

" You keep gettin' into it with that Quinn kid," Calvin said by way of sudden recollection, " and you're arm may not get to that level of endurance." His wife had been hounding him to talk about the kid's recent violent streak with a boy named Jack Quinn. The Quinn's were associates of the family, though not on friendly terms. It was an acquaintanceship of business and nothing more.

Danny's fidgeting slowed, and the kid looked down at his fists. " He started it, dad." Danny's voice was oddly flat, neither angry, sad, or even bitter. Just dead-pan, as though he had emotionally shut down. Calvin placed his hand back on Danny's shoulder that felt rock-solid with tension. Danny looked up at him.

" I was just fightin' back."

Calvin pursed his lips. " I know kid. Quinn's bigger than you. But why're always given in to what he's dishin' out? Why're you lettin' him get under your skin?"

Calvin felt his son shudder, and knew it wasn't because of the cold.

" He – he won't lay off..." Danny began with a nervous quaver to his voice. Calvin narrowed his eyes. He hated that Quinn kid. Too much like his dad – all talk and smart about getting under the skin. Plus, whenever Danny and Quinn had at it, Danny always ended up getting the worst of it, including a broken arm that just yesterday had its cast removed.

Truthfully, Calvin shouldn't even _be _the one berating Danny, since he had been the one who taught the boy how to fight in the first place, and drilled it into his head how important fighting back was, even when the odds were against him.

The berating, however, was short-lived. Calvin felt the cab slow, so lifted his head to glance around. Time must have zipped by him again if they were already home. He looked out the window, and even through the wall of rain could tell that they were nowhere near their neighborhood. They probably weren't even in Brooklyn yet. Calvin straightened uneasily.

" Hey, pal," he began, turning to look at the cabby. He froze.

The cabby was already turned himself, with a gun pointed at Calvin Messer.

" Don't move!" He snapped, then shifted the gun onto Danny. The boy flinched back, looking wide-eyed from the cabby to Calvin. " You move, your kid gets it!"

Calvin raised his hands and nodded numbly. " All right, all right pal. Just don't hurt my kid, please."

Suddenly, the cabby flipped the gun so that he was holding the barrel, then pistol-whipped Calvin across the face. Calvin whipped to the side, knocking his head into the window with an audible crack.

" Dad!" he heard Danny cry out, but darkness hovered on the edge of his vision so that he could hardly see.

" Can it, kid! Don't move!"

Calvin heard the front door open, then nearly fell from the cab when his own door opened. A hand grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, dragging him out into the rain and into the flooded street.

" Give me your money!" the cabby screamed. Dazed, Calvin was slow to react. He lifted his hand to reach into his jacket, but wasn't quick enough. The cabby kicked him in the chest, driving out the air so that Calvin was forced to gasp it back in raggedly. The cabby then lifted Calvin by his shirt-front and slam him against the car. He reached into Calvin's jacket and pulled out his wallet, then his money, tossing the wallet aside.

He slugged Calvin across the face with the butt of the gun.

" Son of a..." he muttered, and slugged him again. " That all you got, old man? Fifteen freakin' bucks?" He hit Calvin again. The darkness hovering at his vision was closing in fast, and he could feel something hot running from his mouth and nose down his face.

" Leave my dad alone!" Calvin heard Danny scream. Terror turned Calvin's blood to ice, and his heart lurched. His vision cleared, and what he saw nearly caused his heart to fail him.

Danny had leaped onto the cabby's back and tried clawing at his face while screaming in his ears. The cabby never released the gun when he reached back and grabbed Danny's arm. He flipped the boy around onto the concrete, and Danny cried out in pain. The cabby then proceeded to drag Danny from Calvin's reach.

" Stupid freakin' brat!" The cabby snarled. He began beating Danny, kicking and punching him. Danny screamed until his voice cracked, and sobbed in between.

Calvin's vision was free, but his mind was in a fog. Every time he tried to stand, the world would spin and his body would drop back down against the car.

" No," he pleaded feebly. " Leave him alone." He could see Danny huddled on the ground - suddenly too small and too frail - with his arms wrapped protectively over his head. The cabby was screaming at him, waving his gun around, and kicking him. Calvin gritted his teeth against the imagined pain he felt when he heard the crunch of foot striking body – striking bone.

" Leave him alone!" Calvin screamed. He started crawling toward Danny and the man that wouldn't stop beating him. With each blow and each cry of agony tearing from Danny's throat, Calvin's heart felt as though it were being ripped from his chest. Calvin pushed himself to his feet and stumbled toward the cabby.

" He's just a kid you Son of a..." He collided with the cabby, trying to pull him away from his boy. The man reacted with an elbow in Calvin's chest, then threw Calvin down onto the concrete and kicked him in the ribs. Calvin gasped, grimacing with the pain that went tearing through his side.

" Bastard," the cabby hissed, kicking Calvin in the face. Calvin rolled onto his back. Cold rain stung his face like pellets of ice. He heard the splash of the cabby's feet as he walked away, distant like something from a dream. The car rumbled to life, and tires squealed on the wet concrete. The cabby was gone.

Calvin took a breath and coughed when more pain seared through him like a heated knife. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his quavering breaths, and calm his hammering heart. The rain was loud around his ears, slapping the ground and his body. And yet, through the noise, he heard another sound. A soft whimper, mingled with sniffs and quiet sobs.

Danny.

Panic flooded Calvin's every cell, and he shoved the pain from his mind to roll onto his stomach. Lifting his head, he saw his boy curled in a tight ball in a puddle of water, shaking violently. Calvin's throat closed off so that he could hardly even swallow or take another breath.

" Danny?" he croaked with overwhelming sorrow. Danny didn't move. Calvin crawled to him, then pushed himself onto his knees, kneeling by his son's body. Slowly, he placed a hand on the wiry arm. When he did, Danny reacted by flinching and screaming in terror.

" Whoa, Danny, it's me! It's your pop! Come on kid, calm down..."

Though Danny tried to jerk away, Calvin pulled his son to him. He gathered the small, thin body to him, and held him as carefully as he could. Danny was shaking and crying so fitfully that it broke Calvin's heart over and over. Danny was clinging to his jacket, holding on for dear life, giving Calvin the impression that Danny thought he might be pulled away again. So Calvin held his son closer, afraid of the same thing.

" It's all right, kid. It's over, it's over. You hear me? It's over Danny. You'll be all right. He's gone now, I swear it..." Calvin was breaking down. His voice cracked, and warm tears mixed with cold rain. " It's over kid, I swear."

CSICSI

" Mr. Messer?"

Calvin lightly messaged his side protected by a tightly wrapped bandage, ignoring the slight twinge of discomfort it caused him.

He didn't care. Twinges were nothing. Compared to Danny, Calvin had gotten off good, and he hated that. That's not how it's supposed to be.

He could feel the bandage through the white T-shirt his wife had brought. He had called her after immediately after arriving at the hospital, and it seemed only seconds later that she had arrived. She was now pacing the sterile linoleum floor before him with arms folded and face tear-said and pale. On occasion – actually, every minute precisely – she would run her hands through her shoulder-length blond hair.

A nurse was babbling over the intercom, calling for some doctor for the third time in three minutes, and it was getting on Calvin's nerves.

_Why can't these doctors answer a freakin' call once and a while?_

" Mr. Messer?" Detective Anderson said again, this time a little more forcefully. Calvin finally tore his gaze from his agitated wife to look at the cop. He was a tall, broad shouldered guy with short sandy hair and a thick mustache. He looked like a cop from some old police show from the seventies, the kind Calvin was always fond of.

Also the kind Danny liked too. The kid liked the mysteries.

" Yeah?" Calvin replied. His head felt light, part due to shock and part because of the pain killers.

" Did you get the license?" Anderson asked.

Calvin shook his head. " Um, no. It was raining too hard and I... wasn't really payin' that much attention."

The detective nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tan jacket. " Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to your boy."

Calvin's wife looked up and over at the detective with a hard, frigid stare. Her motherly instincts had been kicked into overdrive on getting the call that her husband and son had been mugged. Worse when she learned that her little boy had gotten the worst of it. They were waiting for him to come out of X-ray now.

Calvin looked from his stiff ready-to-kill-for-her-cub wife, to the stoic detective Anderson. " You'll have to ask him yourself. But I'm tellin' you now. If he ain't up to it, then he ain't up to it."

Calvin didn't like cops, it was simple as that. The cops in shows weren't real, so fun to watch. Real cops tended to cause problems, and Calvin knew this situation, though not even his fault, would bring down harder attention on him and his family. They didn't need any more of that kind of crap.

A nurse in sky-blue scrubs approached the three, coming up from behind Detective Anderson. " Mr. and Mrs. Messer?" the nurse said rather cheerily. " They're bringing your son in now. Just thought you'd like to know."

Sure enough, another nurse was wheeling in Danny's gurney down the hall to his room. The kid's arm was in a sling, ready for a cast, but Calvin only noticed that small fact at a glance. His gaze was drawn directly to his boy's face. It was pale, and the bruises stood out dark and painful because of it. He looked even more small and frail on the gurney, wearing a hospital gown that was a little too big and hanging down below his collar-bones. There were dark bruises on his chest.

Danny's expression altered between being a blank mask to slight grimacing twists of pain whenever he so much as twitched or the gurney jolted slightly. But when he saw his parents, his jaw clenched and his skinny throat moved in a tight swallow.

_The kid's trying not to react. He's trying to play it tough_. But so went the ways of Danny Messer. It took a lot to make Danny cry, especially when an audience was present. Calvin had always told Danny that it was okay to cry sometimes. Whether Danny did or not, Calvin never knew. Danny wasn't much for public displays of emotion, and probably never would be.

Probably because Calvin was the exact same way. Shows of emotion sometimes spelled weakness; not good in his line of business.

Calvin and Anderson stepped aside to allow the doctor to roll the gurney into the room. Then all three stepped inside to watch as Danny was shifted from the gurney to the bed so carefully that he didn't even wince. The blankets were pulled up to his waist, and the head of the bed raised to he could sit up. Calvin's wife hurried over to her son where she began running her hands through his cropped hair.

" Hey, baby, you okay? How're you feeling?"

Danny took a deep breath, but stopped halfway, gasping and shuddering. Moisture filled his eyes and he coughed. " My chest hurts," he croaked. His mom took his hand and squeezed, then looked at the detective, turning on the ice.

Danny looked at his dad. Calvin smile. " Hey kid."

Danny visibly relaxed. Again, another Danny trait. More worried about the other guy than himself.

Anderson cleared his throat. Calvin looked at him glaringly though he knew it was nothing compared to what his wife could dish out. The woman could freeze the ocean at a glance if she wanted to. Calvin looked back at his son, who was glancing from Calvin to the detective, both curious and wary. Calvin approached the bed.

" Hey, Danny. This is detective Anderson. He wants to ask you a few questions. That okay?"

Danny looked at the detective, then nodded without expression. " Yeah, sure."

" Mr. Messer?"

Calvin sighed. He was getting tired of hearing his name. He turned to see the doctor standing in the doorway. Apparently, he wasn't in the mind to talk within hearing range of Danny, so Calvin met him half-way He was a middle-aged guy with prematurely gray hair and a wiry build. He had a clipboard clutched in one hand, and the other hidden in the pocket of his white coat.

" What's up?" Calvin asked. He jerked his head in Danny's direction. " It bad or somethin'?"

" It could have been worse. Danny was lucky, even though his injuries are more numerous than yours. He has a fractured arm, three cracked ribs and one broken rib. One more hit, and that rib might have punctured a lung. But he should be fine. Nothing lasting."

Calvin couldn't hide his own relief. " Oh, thank goodness. The kid loves baseball, you know? Would've broken his heart if he couldn't play anymore."

The doctor smiled. " Well, you won't have to worry about that. And neither will he. We'll put the cast on when he's ready."

Calvin nodded, and the doctor left. He turned to watch Danny and the detective. The conversation was held in low tones, and Calvin couldn't hear the questions. So he just observed, especially Danny. The kid seemed very responsive, nodding and speaking after every one of the detective's inquiries. All the while Calvin's wife was holding Danny's hand and stroking it, but no longer wearing the cold glare and the stiff stance of annoyance.

Moments later, Detective Anderson thanked Danny and moved away toward Calvin. " You've got a smart kid there, Mr. Messer," he said, in a tone of genuine admiration. " He remembered some good details. Answered every question I had without a single 'I don't know'. You've got a tough boy there."

Calvin smiled, looking at his son who was searching the room with sleep-heavy eyes. " Yeah, that's my boy."

Anderson thanked Calvin for his time, making the standard promise of finding the guy that did this and putting him away. Calvin moved over to stand by Danny's bed. His wife smiled at him, every last inch of tension out of her body.

" I'm going to get some coffee," she said. " I feel ready to drop on my feet." She kissed the top of Danny's head and added a "love ya, baby," then rose and headed from the room. Calvin took a step closer to the bed.

" Hey, kid," he said. " I just talked with the doctor. You've got to get a cast, have some broken ribs, but he says you'll be fine."

Danny didn't look at Calvin. He was looking away, staring distantly at the wall across from them, his thin chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythms. Calvin placed his hand lightly on Danny's shoulder.

" Hey, Danny. You all right pal?"

He could feel his son shudder. " Are you?"

Calvin blinked in surprise. " What?"

Danny rolled his head to look at his dad. " Are you all right. I-I never asked. I just saw you up and... kind of thought you were."

Calvin blinked again. " Yeah, Danny, I'm fine. Just a few cracked bones. Nothin' big. I'll heal."

Now it was Danny who blinked, trying to fight back an onrush of tears. He then shrugged in an act of indifference. " I'm sorry."

" For what?"

Danny swallowed. " Getting beat up like that. I was just tryin' to distract the guy. Get him off you. Guess that kind of backfired."

Calvin felt tears burning his own eyes. " Oh, Danny, no. Don't be sorry. You tried kid. I'm the one who screwed up. I'm the one who didn't fight back. I did wrong by you, kid. You didn't do wrong by me."

Danny nodded and looked away again. " So, you ain't mad?"

Calvin wanted to both laugh and cry. Instead, he gingerly placed his arm around his son's shoulders, then pulled him into a light embrace. Danny was silent, but Calvin could feel him shaking.

" Nah, kid. I'm not mad. You tried. You were just tryin' to help me. Fightin' back like I taught you."

_Which is a hell of a lot more than I did,_ Calvin thought bitterly, hating himself. _You should have fought back, you weak SOB. You should have saved Danny. You're his dad. It's your job to save him. _

Danny clutched his father's sleeve with one hand, holding on tight, bringing back to mind the impression that he was holding on for dear life, afraid that he would be taken away. Calvin put his hand on the back of his son's head.

" Think they'll catch him?" Danny asked. Calvin knew it was a two-way question. He wanted to know if it was over, if he had reason to be afraid.

" Yeah kid, I think they will. But I swear I'll never let anything like this happen to you again. I swear it, Danny."

Danny could only nod.


	2. Ch 1

A/N: I forgot to mention that these chapters will not be named. I'm tired with trying to come up with names all the time. Also, there will be much Danny/Stella friendship, with some Danny/Aiden friendship stuff as well. No romance! I'm not fond of romance much.

Ch. 1

Present Day

The night was moist, hazed in a thin mist of drizzle and humidity that was causing Stella's blouse to cling to her back. The warm night and the lack of a breeze was making the now foul air hard to breathe as Stella leaned in close to the blood-soaked corpse. A bullet wound the size of her fist gaped open at her like a frozen fish-maw, breathing out the sticky stench of blood and rotting meat. Stella swatted flies from her face as she snapped more pictures, the bulb flashing like distant lightning in the darkness.

The guy had been sitting out in the sun for the better part of the day, and now night had come and Stella had to suffer through the aftermath of it. Warm days and glaring sunlight was keen on speeding up decay to the most nauseating point possible. And of all days, she had forgotten the Vicks to put under her nose and stifle the smell. The officer standing a few feet away – the first on the scene after the report of the body – had offered her some mints, but like Stella was going to shove Tic-Tacs up her nose.

By now, however, she was starting to consider it.

When she finished snapping pictures of the wound, she sat back on her haunches and took a casual perusal of her surroundings. It was the kind of neighborhood where a body could definitely go unnoticed for a while. Dark, quiet, with apartments barely occupied except by those who made a practice out of minding their own business. Around the corner was a park with an old swing-set, dry grass, and liquor bottles scattered everywhere like a trashy glass menagerie. The only light source Stella had besides her many flashlights was a street lamp on the other side of the street.

Why people couldn't discover bodies during the day like most people was beyond her. Stella swatted more flies from her face, took a deep breath, and leaned in close again to study the wound.

" Hey Stella!"

Stella sat up and turned her head, then smiled at seeing Danny jogging across the street. When he was on the other side, he held up a small container of Vicks Vapor Rub, then tossed it to her. She caught it in both hands, then proceeded to remove her gloves to place the potent smelling stuff under her nose.

" Danny, you are a life saver beyond comprehension."

Danny crouched by his kit and began rummaging through it. " You say that now, but next time you're the one runnin' up and down streets lookin' for an open market. I got that stuff from a Chinese guy who could barely speak English."

The burning scent of the Vix was like heaven compared to the smell of rot. Stella leaned back in toward the corpse without compunction and angled her flashlight to peer into the wound.

" Close-range shot, point blank I would say," she said. " And I'm thinking something stronger than a hand gun. Maybe a rifle..."

The vic was a young African-American male who looked to be no more than eighteen or nineteen. Along with the gunshot wound were abrasions and bruises to the face, and a bent arm indicating a break. The kid had been beaten before he was shot.

" Could be gang-related," Stella said, " race-related... or the kid had been seeing someone else's girl. Too many possibilities. I've just never heard of any gang using rifles rather than automatics."

Stella felt Danny's presence beside her, and she looked up at him. His hands were busy adjusting his gloves, and the wan light from the street lamp flashed off his watch. He was in a short-sleeved tan shirt, and like Stella it was clinging to his back and shoulders.

" Depends on the gang," Danny said, and crouched down beside her. " Some guys, they like the damage more than the deaths. The bloodier the better, or the more painful the better. When I was a kid, there was this guy my dad knew who had a boy two years older than me – and taller than me. The kid was a sick freak. Whenever he came over, he would try to get me alone somewhere, then he would knock me to the floor and stand on my back."

Stella widened her eyes in disbelief at Danny. " Really? Didn't your parents find out?"

" Jack wouldn't let me rat him out. Jack Quinn was the kid's name. Said if I told anyone he would skin me alive, and he cut my arm once just to prove it. But I knew he was full of it, guys like him always are. But he liked causing pain, you know? I think he used to torture animals too, which is why he hated me. He had this dog he kept locked up in a shed, and when my dad brought me to the Quinn place for business, I let the dog out and set it lose. Jack really beat the snot out of me for that one. But it wasn't too bad since I got a good kick to his nose and broke it. Didn't have a choice, you know? Him or me kind of deal."

Stella shook her head. " You're a violent man, Danny Messer."

" Hey, I got a right to defend myself..." he said in a dead serious expression, then grinned, " and dogs if I feel like it."

Stella grinned at him. Danny could be a hard guy to read – good had maintaining a poker face when he was being sarcastic or kidding – but at least she knew where his heart stood.

The whispering rush of a car brushed by them, and Danny twisted his head around to watch it go. It was a habit of his, one he probably didn't even realize he was doing, to watch cars roll past, especially at night. Stella had only started noticing it now that so many evening cases were being called in, and found it amusing. But with his expression blank every time, she couldn't tell if he did it out of admiration for the cars or slight annoyance at the thought of someone stopping to snap a picture of a real crime scene.

" Hey, what's that," Danny mumbled, then rose fluidly and headed over to the edge of the sidewalk, taking the camera with him. He crouched, flashed a picture, then gingerly picked up what looked to be a piece of red glass. Danny pulled out his flashlight and clicked it on.

" Looks like it came from a car," he said, turning the glass over in the light. He shined the light into the street, then grinned. " Aw, look, they left a trail. Could you bag this?"

He set the glass behind him, and Stella stretched to pick it up. Danny moved out into the street and crouched again, this time picturing and picking up some white glass. " Our killers might have hit something, or something hit them. Maybe our vic?" Danny glanced over his shoulder. Stella could only shrug.

Danny fished a small plastic baggy from the pocket of his jeans and placed the glass inside. He flashed more pictures of the street, the trail of glass, and what also looked to be metal. He set the camera down behind him, then went to his hands and knees, studying the trail. " Leads to the other side of the sidewalk. I'm thinking they did a U-turn once they finished up here." The street was wide. Danny, holding up his flashlight, stretched his arm to pass the beam across the street to the other end.

Stella heard the squeal of tires echoing at an uncomfortably close range.

Danny smirked. " I think I see tire marks..."

" I think you need to get out of the street," Stella replied.

" Yeah, I am, I just..."

Tires squealed again. The car flashed into existence from around the corner. It hit Danny with a bang and a crunch, snapping him to the left and in the same heart-beat instant flipping him onto his back light as a rag doll being tossed by a rabid dog. The car peeled away back into the darkness beyond the lamp, squealing tires fading away in less than a heartbeat.

And Stella could only watch. The car had come and gone too fast for warning, denying Danny the time to so much as look up. She blinked, and like a camera flash reality snapped back into her awareness.

" Danny!" she screamed, scrambling to her feet and rushing out to the writhing prone form. She dropped to her knees on the right side of Danny's body and felt the heat of blood absorbing into her pants to stick to her legs. Danny was awake, eyes wide enough to rip, gasping in breaths so ragged in sounded as though his throat were being torn up. His arm that was still stretched above his head was blood-drenched and bent at the bicep. There was blood oozing from the shoulder down the side where his shirt was tattered. Stella cast the beam of her flashlight on that tear and nearly gagged on rising vomit.

Not only had that side of the shirt been ripped away, but some of the flesh as well, as though the bumper of the vehicle had been covered in spikes. Through the gash she could see the red-smeared arch of Danny's ribs, cracked and splintered like dried sticks.

Stella covered her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut until the burning vomit receded. When she opened her eyes again, she focused on Danny's terror-twisted face as he struggled to breathe. On the next breath, it caught, and he coughed. Blood sprayed out from his throat, then slid from the corners of his mouth like crimson worms. All the while, his hand on his uninjured side clawed at the ground.

Stella didn't know what to do. Blood was pouring from so many places, and the rasping, liquid intakes of air were making her mind reel wildly in a mesh of panic.

She took a deep breath, and honed all her concentration on Danny's gaze.

" Call 911!" She screamed at the officer she heard running toward her.

" Officer needs assistance and medical at..." she heard the cop rattle off, then stopped listening. She took Danny's face in her hands, then leaned over him to put her face in view of his sight.

" Danny, it's Stella. Listen, I need you to look at me Danny, look in my eyes. It's going to be okay, you'll be all right, help is coming."

Danny's uninjured arm shot up and his hand gripped Stella's arm painfully. She ignored that pain, and let Danny hold on, in turn moving one hand to grip his good shoulder and hold on as well.

" Come on, Danny, slow, shallow breaths. You've still got another lung in there that should be working fine..."

Danny hacked up more blood, then took a short, harsh breath with only one side of his ribcage expanding. She could feel him trembling violently through her fingers, and the blood absorbed past her knees. She wanted, more than anything, to stop that bleeding but the gashes were too long and too deep to be stopped. Plus, she had nothing to use to stop them with.

Stella's eyes burned with tears that she couldn't blink back. They fell warmly down her face, and she irritably wiped them away on her shoulder. Danny stared up at her, pleading without words for the help she couldn't give him. She felt blood on her hands, and saw blood staining Danny's hair from a head-wound she couldn't see in the poor light.

" Hang on, Danny, just please hang on. You'll be all right," she repeated over and over again. Her heart pounded, and cold sweat trickled down her neck. She was shaking just as badly as Danny.

The wail of the ambulance echoed to them through the maze of buildings and streets, then came to them only minutes later, flashing up the neighborhood in strobing red and blue lights. Paramedics surrounded them with kits and strange equipment, taking over. Stella had to pry Danny's hand from her arm, and her own hand from his shoulder. She rose on unsteady legs and backed away, but continued to hold Danny's gaze when he let his head loll to one side to watch her, still pleading, still terrified, reminding her of a small child lost in a big place as strangers crowded around him.

She wanted to go with him. Someone needed to. But the crime scene..."

Stella pulled her cell from blood-stained pants and pulled up Mac's number.

The phone rang several agonizing times.

" Taylor."

" Mac!"

" Stella?"

Stella ran her hand halfway through her hair and left it there, gripping tightly. " Mac, it's Danny, he's been in an accident. He's on his way to the hospital..." she related breathlessly, panting to match her racing heart.

" Stella, slow down, what?"

" Danny's been hurt! Oh, gosh, Mac... I need someone out here. I need to get to the hospital, please..."

" Are there officers around?"

Stella had not noticed the arrival of two cop cars and the four cops now talking to the on-site officer.

" Um, yeah, yeah, there are."

" Tell them to hold the scene until Sheldon and I get down there. Then go to the hospital and call me back after you arrive."

Stella nodded despite the fact that Mac wouldn't see it. " Yeah, sure."

Stella shoved her phone back in her pocket, then hurried over to the officers. She explained, almost in a single breath, what they needed to do, then ran to the car and practically jumped in. Twisting the key, the engine roared to life, and she pulled away.

Stella's heart would not stop its incessant hammering. Giving way to panic had never been a problem with her. Self-control came as naturally to her as breathing. But she'd never seen anything like what had just happened. She had seen dead bodies mangled and mutilated, torn apart and skinned; but Danny was still alive. It wasn't the blood that burned itself into her brain, or the sight of Danny's stained and cracked ribs through the torn flesh. It had been his eyes, the eyes of someone she knew, looking up at her in so much agony and fear, begging her to make it stop as though she had the power to. And she couldn't. It sickened her, enraged her, that someone had plowed into Danny as though he were nothing, just something to turn into road kill, then drive away without a second thought – probably because they were too drunk to care. That was the only explanation she could fathom at the moment.

Stella slammed her fist against the steering wheel. " Damn it!" Another tear traced an unseen path down her cheek. The blood on her pants was growing cold, and the blood on her hands was drying and causing her hand to stick to the wheel. She murmured a prayer in Greek that Danny wasn't going cold as well.

CSINY

_Aw man this can't be happening! What's happening? What happened? What's going on? I can't breath! It hurts, oh man it hurts too freakin' much...!_

There were noises too mangled and congealed to make sense, and flashes of movement like a blurred, psychotic dance whirling around Danny. He would have liked to have said that it was all a dream, but people weren't supposed to feel in dreams, and he was feeling too much. Mostly cold – freezing – and hurting in a way he had never felt before. He wanted Stella's voice back, and the sight of her face – terrified and pale as it had appeared – to hover in his line of sight and give him something to focus on. He needed something to focus on. It wasn't so bad then, even when he was trying to breathe.

He heard his name several times, and garbled words of comfort, but words weren't something he could focus on. He was feeling way too much to listen to anything. And without his glasses, whatever reality he had landed in was nothing but a haze of colors.

_Where are my glasses?_ He wanted to ask as much, but was still trying to get air down his throat. Half-way down, it would feel as though he had sucked in some water, and in turn would begin to cough. Coughing would then ignite a torrent of agony that made him want to scream, and the cycle would repeat itself.

Then he felt something new, and it was _inside_ him. It had to be, because it was the gut-wrenching sensation of something pulling and manipulating his ribs.

Yet, oddly, it didn't hurt as much as it probably should have. That did not mean it didn't feel wrong, grating and grinding so that he could hear it just as much as feel it. He wanted to shrink away from it or at least rip out whatever was doing it but he couldn't move. He was forced to endure it. He sucked in a terrified breath, choked, coughed, and heard loud rapid beeps and wails. He tried to take another breath, and choked again.

_What's happening!_

Someone was telling him to calm down and take short breaths.

_Stella?_ No, the voice was male.

The world became dark and misty, and Danny could feel his mind slipping mercifully away. He heard his name being shouted this time, and was only vaguely aware of something being slipped unnervingly down his throat. At that point, instead of heeding to the voice that was telling him to stay awake, he let himself slip into darkness. He was sick of feeling.

_If I don't have to take it, then I won't. Doesn't mean I'm dead._

A man should only have to take so much.

CSICSI

A/N: Am I mean to Danny or what! But you know what's really bad? This is only the beginning. Oh, the things I have in store for our boy Messer!


	3. Ch 2

Disclaimer: I know I already said it, but I don't own CSI New York. Anyone who says otherwise is a lying sack of crap. Thank you and goodnight.

Ch. 2

A month and a half later

Calvin Messer was a connoisseur of the art of false appearances. Any more bodily relaxed and he would be melting into the pine green bench. He had his right arm stretched along the top, tapping out a soundless tune against the wood with the tips of his black-gloved fingers. His other hand was resting loosely on the ornate black handrail.

His posture was the antithesis of what he was actually feeling, but that was the point.

With the skies overcast into a solid ice-gray mass and the air uncomfortably biting, the day was perfect for what Cal intended.

_Thank-goodness for extreme weather patterns._

The paths and sidewalks winding through Central Park were empty and had been for the past five minutes. That didn't stop him from glancing around out of instinctual caution, though for the most part he felt relatively safe.

Maybe he was pushing it, being paranoid, he couldn't be sure. Danny wasn't going to like this, but Calvin was doing it for Danny. Danny didn't just have the right to know, he _needed_ to know.

_Don't be too sure, Messer, don't be too sure. He goes for watchin' out for the other guy, remember?_

Calvin wasn't sure of anything, not since Danny became the victim of a hit and run.

_He's a freakin' cop! He's not supposed to be the victim of anything!_ Of course how many times had Calvin thought that, with kid instead of cop, before Danny went into that occupation. It had been an ironic path to take, but Calvin had never complained. In fact, Calvin had made the constant remark to his wife (rest her soul) that he was probably the only father in the world proud that his son _hadn't_ followed in his footsteps.

It didn't mean Danny was off the hook. Becoming a cop – even if he was just a crime scene investigator – had caused him to be ostracized by most of Calvin's side of the family.

Calvin preferred it over Danny being black-marked. At least ostracized he would pretty much be left alone.

Still didn't get him off the hook. He was still Calvin's kid, and in light of recent events that wasn't a good thing to be.

Calvin took another look up the empty sidewalk that the bench flanked. A single figure in a tan coat strolled out of the small copse of trees surrounding the sidewalk, and Calvin straightened.

_Doesn't look too bad._ But he knew that was just false reassurance talking. True, Danny didn't look half as bad as he had been for the past month and a half, but to a father it was either one hundred percent or nothing. Danny's arm was cradled uselessly in a blue sling, his shoulders were hunched, and his face still retained some of that unnerving ghostly pallor. But what really made Calvin's heart sink was how thinner his son looked. It wasn't like Danny was emaciated or unhealthy in appearance. Neither was he weaker. The weight loss was more of a reminder of the hell Danny had to endure while recovering. First there had been the pain, then the sickness which produced more pain and a longer stay at the hospital. And every time one infection-born illness was surpassed, another one would slink in to take over.

Saying it hadn't been pretty was an understatement. Just watching it happen had been a nightmare in itself.

_Forever cursed to watch my own kid suffer,_ Calvin thought caustically.

The worst part was that Calvin probably could have done something about it. Danny would disagree at first, only because he didn't know the current situation. But if Calvin was right in his assumptions, and what happened to Danny was related to the here and now, there might have been a way to stop it. Granted, Calvin had been ignorant to the situation then, but still...

Danny was staring at the sidewalk, but looked up when he neared the bench. The expression on Danny's face made Calvin involuntarily smile. It was pure Danny mingled with slight irritation to create the unspoken statement of 'you sure as hell better not be feeling sorry for me!' Calvin knew good and well that the look wasn't being directed at him personally. If anything it was more the product of being sore, tired, and sick of it.

Danny didn't need pity, didn't want pity, and the wise course would be not to express pity.

Too bad. Danny was his kid, and if Calvin wanted to show concern then no look Danny gave him would stop that. There was a lot to be concerned about. Danny needed to realize that.

Danny approached Calvin and stopped in front of him. The kid really did look tired with those shadows under his eyes - and irritable because of it. Danny just stared at his dad. His eyes flicked up and down, scrutinizing, assessing Calvin's motives at a glance. Danny wasn't stupid or naïve. There was only one reason Calvin would want to talk to him in an empty park instead of over the phone or at either of their homes. Not enough ears to overhear in a park.

" What's up, pop?" Danny asked, his tone casual but his gaze boring invisible holes into the older Messer.

Calvin looked down at his lap, sighing and shaking his head. There was no time to mince words.

" Sit down, Danny," Calvin said. " This might take a while."

Danny sat without taking his pinning gaze from his father. " This really necessary, meeting out here? I thought we never had to worry about doin' stuff like this?"

Calvin lifted his head to look at his son. Just as Calvin had suspected, meeting in the park was making Danny nervous. The question the kid had asked was a rhetorical one. Asked just for the asking, to start things off.

" It's just a precaution, Danny. Nothin' you'll get in trouble over. It's just..." Calvin lifted his hand, dropped it, then shook his head. His heart started beating a little faster. " I don't know how much I should tell you Danny. But I need to tell you."

Danny visibly tensed. " Tell me what? What now?"

Calvin flinched inwardly at the words, but Danny had every right to say them. This was Calvin's fault after all. If he had just said no...

Calvin took a deep breath and let it out sharply.

_Just get it out, now._

" I"m under a little heat, Danny."

" The Feds?" Danny asked.

Calvin sighed. " Yeah, Danny, the Feds, and then some. I've been backed into a corner, and there's not a lot of escape routes to choose from right now. Not ones that're good to take."

" What happened pop?" Danny pressed.

Calvin glanced away, just for a moment to gather his thoughts. " Four days ago Micky came to me with a tape."

" Uncle Mike?" Danny asked. Micky wasn't really Danny's uncle, but Calvin's cousin. When it came to the family 'business', Micky was in deep, so deep that it was never good news when he decided to drop by, and he always arrived without warning. Mostly because he 'needed' something. Mike insisted Danny call him uncle since Danny didn't know what else to call him. Calvin saw it as a means for Micky to bond with Danny, then take him under his wing. Calvin had made pretty damn sure that Danny was scarce when Micky dropped by.

Calvin nodded. " Yeah, the same. He gave me this tape, right? Told me to hold it for him. Said it was real important. I didn't watch the tape but then I didn't have to. I'm pretty sure I know what it's for, and I think you do to."

" Blackmail? This a blackmail deal?"

Calvin nodded again. " Yeah, probably. Anyway, the Feds come knockin' the next day. They must not have had enough proof, just here-say, that I had something. Now, like I said, I didn't watch the tape. But – Danny – I think it might have something to do with the Quinns."

For a moment, it seemed Danny had stopped breathing. " Quinns?"

Calvin looked away, staring straight ahead at the empty patch of grass on the other side of the sidewalk where dog-walkers would normally roam.

" They're going for them, Danny. The Feds. They want me to testify, hand over what Micky gave me."

" How do they know it involves the Quinns?" Danny asked hoarsely.

" Because the Quinns know. Someone in their circle found out about the tape. I still don't know what's on it, but _they_ sure seem to, and I think it's got 'em spooked. They came to me the day after the Feds dropped by. They wanted the tape."

" Did they hurt you?"

Calvin looked back at Danny. The kid looked mad - ready to kill mad. Calvin shook his head and swallowed tightly.

" No, Danny. They didn't touch me. They know better than that. It's the Quinns, Danny. They're thinkers, they plan. They know the Feds are on 'em hard, pushing to put them away for good. I'm not talkin' the whole clan, just Mel, his kid Jack, and Jack's buddies. Their goin' for the heart, Danny, not the lackeys. The Quinns know – hell I think they've known forever - that the Feds want me to talk since I was the one who did the most business with them. I'm not the only one being made to come forward, but there's this tape..." Calvin trailed off. " I was already on everyone's radar. The tape just sunk me."

Danny narrowed his eyes. " What's going on, dad?" he asked flatly.

Calvin looked at Danny, meeting his eyes. " Here's the deal, Danny. If I don't talk, I go to jail. They got some stuff on me they're willing to use to put me away. It wouldn't be for long. But length isn't the problem... It's where they'll send me."

Danny's gaze darkened as though a shadow had passed over his eyes. " They wouldn't...?"

Calvin didn't reply, just continued to hold Danny's gaze.

" What the hell!" Danny snapped, rising abruptly from his seat. " They'd send you into the lion's den, with Falonze?"

Calvin nodded. Falonze was a dangerous man, even behind bars, with a lot of influence and a lot of people under his thumb. And the only reason why he was in prison was because a Messer had put him there. Not Calvin, of course, but connections were connections, and family was the biggest connection of them all. For Calvin to go where Falonze was penned up was a practical death penalty.

" They can't do that!" Danny barked. " They can't send you away, to your death, just because of some stupid tape! That's blackmail, extortion. That's _freakin_' illegal!"

Calvin raised both his hands to calm his son. " They got the means, Danny. They've always had it, they just never needed to use it. It's my own fault, really."

Danny, panting and fidgeting as he always did when in a rage, began pacing. " So give them the freakin' tape, and a testimony." He then stopped and looked at Calvin. " Except for the Quinns, am I right? They threaten you, is that it?"

Calvin, once again, had to look away. The more he told, the harder it became to keep going.

_Haven't even gotten to the good part yet,_ he bitterly thought. " Danny, do you really think I'd be worried about my own skin if I testified? I talk, the Quinns get put away, and I'm a safe man. They mess with me before I talk, then Micky, Fred, and Miles'll mark 'em, and you know what I mean by that. You really think the Quinns don't know all this?"

Danny didn't reply. Calvin looked up at him, and saw his stunned look of realization.

Calvin inclined his head in a single nod. " That's right, kid. Why threaten me when they got you?" Calvin clenched his fists, taking in a shuddering breath. The hardest part of all of this was finally out, and it was still only getting harder. " I come forward... and you die, before I even get the chance to talk."

Danny went stiff as a statue, and his already pale face drained of color. There was nothing to be said, or could be said. Again, Calvin had to look away, not because of the look on Danny's face, but so Danny didn't have to see Calvin's face; the terror, despair, and sickness Calvin was feeling and had been feeling since the threat had been made.

" The agent on the case offered witness protection," Calvin said matter-of-factly. He then let out a single, derisive laugh.

When it came to the Quinns, there was no protection. Calvin knew this well enough, and through him Danny knew this. It wasn't a proven fact, but it was known enough that whoever messed with the Quinns didn't survive, even with witness protection. Witness protection only bought time, and it was a short time at best. Rumor had it that the Quinns had good connections thanks to their own deep pockets and reputation for being slightly sociopathic in their actions. The Feds had been hard on their case for years, and pounced on whatever evidence they could that would help put Mel Quinn and his son Jack away. Building the case had lasted for years, but apparently had hit its peak the past two months or the Feds wouldn't have started knocking on doors and forcing testimonies.

Calvin looked back to his son who looked ready to topple, and it scared him. Danny wasn't weak, but he was still recovering. He was still vulnerable whether he liked it or not. Calvin reached out and grabbed Danny's unbound wrist. " Come on, sit before you drop."

Danny unblinkingly complied, dropping back down on the bench. His white face was taking on a slightly green tint, a good indication that Danny was absorbing all this and sick because of it. Calvin understood all too well, since he felt ready to vomit himself.

" Do you think," Danny began, pausing to swallow, " that the – um – _my_ accident, had anything to do...?"

Calvin shrugged. " I don't know. It happened way before I got the tape, but the Quinns are always up to speed. They probably knew the Feds were about to come down hard, knew who they would go to for testimonies, and decided to initiate early _warnings_ before things even got under way. But that's just me talkin', Danny. It might've just been an accident, a drunk driver."

Danny shuddered. Calvin cleared his constricted throat.

There was still one more item to tell, one more bit of bad news that would send both their worlds crashing down around their ears. But there wasn't much of a choice in the matter except to just say it.

" Listen Danny..." Calvin's throat constricted again and he coughed to clear it. " There's nothin' to be done about any of it. I already made a decision, and I'm not backing down. The trial doesn't start for two weeks, but I already made up my mind. I'm not goin' on the stand."

Danny clenched his fist and squeezed his eyes shut. " Stupid move, dad, stupid move..." he breathed. Calvin draped his arm around his son's neck.

" I know, kid. But it's my move. They're not touchin' you."

" What about Ricky, why won't he help out, huh?"

" You know how Ricky feels about you. The rest of 'em too. I know since I already tried. They're willing to help me out, though. Get me a good lawyer, try to fight whatever charges the Feds bring up against me, or get me into another prison. I mean, it's no guarantee... But the guy they use, he's good Danny. Real good. It should be enough..."

" No, it's not," Danny growled.

" Come on, Danny. Think logically. These are the Quinns we're talkin' about. You know how they work. Hell, I bet half your unsolved cases were caused by them. Like I said, I might not even go to prison, or at least the prison Falonze is at. I didn't mean to scare you kid, I just wanted you to hear the facts, to be ready for what's gonna come. Because it will come whether you like it or not. I'm not gonna just stand in the wings and let them butcher you, I can't. You understand me? It ain't _gonna_ _happen!_"

Danny ran his hand jerkily through his hair. " Gotta be another way." He shook his head. " There's always another way. I could ask my boss for help. I mean, he knows people..."

" Danny, do _not_ bring anyone else into this. Do _not_ tell anyone else about this. It's too dangerous. I shouldn't even have told you but you needed to be warned. I mean if the rumors about the Quinns are true..."

" You mean the torture," Danny snapped vehemently.

Calvin fell silent. Another trait of a supposed Quinn victim – mutilation, abuse, stuff that would make a serial killer jealous. Not only did Calvin's throat tighten, but his chest as well.

Sometimes the bad stuff began long before death was decided, mostly as a warning.

" Mr. Messer."

Calvin winced, then forced himself to look up and to the left. A man about Danny's years wearing a dark overcoat strolled casually up to the bench. The man had reddish-blond hair – slightly stringy – and a round face with blue eyes hidden behind round sun-glasses. Calvin straightened, removing his arm from Danny's shoulder since public displays of affection always made Danny uncomfortable. Danny looked up at the new-comer with unconfined irritation.

" Agent Stevenson," Calvin greeted flatly. Stevenson stopped in front of the bench, looking from Calvin to Danny.

" This your son?" he asked, jerking his head at Danny. He then held out his hand. " Agent Stevenson."

Danny took it in a brief shake, looking none too pleased about it. " Detective Danny Messer," he replied.

Stevenson cocked an eyebrow. " Detective?"

Calvin glared at him. Stevenson already knew Danny was a detective. Stevenson knew a lot. It was his job to, after all. He was just screwing with Calvin. The man was a cold-hearted SOB that way, the kind of guy that liked to wave the power his authority held in everyone's face. Strangely enough, he was actually being polite today.

" So," Stevenson went on. " What brings you two out here on a cold day like this, huh?"

Calvin stretched his arm back across the seat in another show of being totally at ease. " I could ask you the same thing, agent Stevenson."

Stevenson shrugged. " Just checking up on you. You know, what with the trial being two weeks away, don't want anything to happen to one of our witnesses."

Calvin narrowed his eyes dangerously. " You know, it'd be nice if you showed the same kind of concern for my son here. I mean I did tell you about the threat made against his life and all."

" I offered witness protection."

" That ain't enough," Calvin growled. " You know the Quinns just as much as I do. You know what they can do."

Again, Stevenson's head moved from Calvin to Danny. He pointed at Danny's arm resting in the sling. " What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

" Car accident," Danny said, and that was all he said on the matter. Stevenson just nodded. He knew good and well about Danny's accident. It had been the topic he had started off with when he first visited Calvin.

Stevenson looked back at Calvin. " You know, you probably shouldn't have talked to your son. I mean, he is a detective. Might not be good for his career if he became involved."

Calvin gripped the armrest of the bench until it bit into his palm. " Didn't give me much of a choice here, Stevenson. I told you no dice, and you wouldn't back off. I'm just giving my boy, here, the heads up in case he needs to defend himself. You know, from the Quinns, or your boys? I mean his life is on the line just as much as mine. Don't you think he has the right to know?"

Stevenson grinned, and it made anger prickle heatedly along Calvin's skin. It was the kind of smirk he wanted to desperately wipe from the man's face.

" Maybe you're right," Stevenson said, then continued on up the sidewalk to vanish around the turn into the trees. Calvin did not take his eyes from the agent until he had gone. He moved his arm to drape across Danny's shoulders, and felt his kid shaking.

" It'll be all right, Danny. I swear," he said, glancing around nervously. If Stevenson had been hanging around, it was only logical to guess that they still might not be alone. He then looked back at Danny, who was shaking his head, tensing his jaw tight so that the muscles twitched.

" Like hell it is."

CSINY

A/N: Mwhahahahahah! The evil never ends! For those of you who would have liked to have seen Danny's suffering during his recovery... too bad. I didn't want to go that route. I have something much better in mind. Something far more... um... twisted, in store. However, do not think this a full-on Danny thrashing story. That's not what I had totally in mind. Danny will be doing some mighty fine butt-kicking of his own. I'm in a fightin' mood, dang-it! Danny needs to kick butt. I just know he would be awesome at it. Gr!

Oh, also, this is not an FBI bashing tale. Stevenson is the creep and only Stevenson. I just want everyone to keep that in mind. As for what the Messer family 'business' is, that's one of the items I'm being vague on. Probably isn't too bad or Calvin would have been arrested long ago. I don't know, just use your imagination. What the Quinns are into will be revealed later.

Falonze is spelled the way I want it. Correct me and I'll sic Danny on you:)


	4. Ch 3

Ch. 3

Next Day, early morning.

Danny walked with a curved back and muscles pulled tight enough to snap like thin rubber-bands. It was colder today than it had been yesterday with the temperatures fluctuating like a roller coaster. It wasn't that long ago when the weather had been warm and wet to the point that it gave the term 'urban jungle' a literal meaning.

To Danny, that day felt more like last year.

The sky was slate smooth and pale-gray above him, so in turn everything around him – no matter the color – had a mild gray tint to it. The wind was blowing at his back – not strong but so cold it actually hurt. Or at least to him it did. Cold seeped into him like his skin was made out of tissue paper. Yet it was only half responsible for the tension that was making him shiver.

That SOB Ricky wouldn't take the tape back. That was what his father had said before they had left the park. Apparently Calvin needed it more as a bargaining chip to keep the Quinns off of Danny. Since Calvin had already made up his mind not to testify or hand over the evidence, there was no reason for the Quinns to get hostile. But hostility was what made a Quinn a Quinn. As Calvin had said, sometimes they liked to get the warnings out before the real party began.

Sometimes, even when they got what they wanted, the Quinns continued to dish out those warnings to ensure desired cooperation. So the tape that had become Calvin's undoing might be the only thing keeping the Quinns at bay. The irony of it was almost nauseating.

Danny didn't buy Ricky's whole speel. The man's _concern _was a front to hide the fact that he didn't want to take the heat and sacrifice whatever was on that tape. Danny he couldn't care less about, and the feeling was mutual with most of the Messer clan. There were a few who were the exceptions, such as two of Calvin's brothers and a couple of aunts. Unfortunately, they didn't have a lot of say when it came to family affairs.

A cop was a cop, no matter his blood. And much to Danny's disgust, he did have to agree with Ricky a little. That tape could very well prevent the Quinns from getting messy with their warnings. _If_ the hit and run had been one of those warnings, Calvin's possession of the tape would explain why no others had popped up.

The streets resounded with the whispering rush of cars and the blaring honks of New York bred road rage. Danny, both consciously and subconsciously, kept close to the walls of the off white brick building he passed. There was no dancing around it – traffic made him uneasy, even during the daytime. It wasn't any form of full-blown phobia, but the other day he had found his heart beating a little faster when he had stepped to the curb to hail a taxi.

Of course there were times when getting into a Taxi - even city-owned and yellow - increased his heart-rate a few notches.

The subways weren't any less of a challenge. He took them when he had to, and paid for it with each jarring of his arm or light bump in his still sore ribs. Until he was one-hundred percent, there were no happy mediums for Danny Messer.

And he doubted there ever would be again.

Cold air stung Danny's throat, burned his lungs on intake, and soothed when he exhaled streams of mist. Walking, however, was wearing him out, but the subways had been too crowded, and the bumps and jars painful.

He stopped in front of CSI building, shivering then coughing when the cold became a little more than his lungs could handle.

He was still debating whether heading back to work was a good idea. He wanted to get back into routine, even if it would mainly consist of lab work until his arm was healed. He was tired of sitting around, waiting for himself to mend. He needed focus to help him stay in the here and now, to keep his mind from dwelling on tomorrow and what it might bring.

His dad could go to jail, and die there. Danny had already lost his mom and now he could lose his father. It wasn't exactly something he could forget, but he didn't want to keep dwelling on it either. Calvin was optimistic that this lawyer Ricky had recommended would take care of everything, and that there was a good chance that Calvin might not go to prison at all. After all, what Stevenson was doing was basic blackmail.

But Danny knew the legal system better than his father, and knew that Stevenson was hiding what he was doing behind legal procedures. He would arrest Calvin for whatever illegal activity they had him on – as though it were newly discovered – then offer him the deal of testifying and handing over the tape for his freedom. Calvin ending up in the same prison with Falonze would be passed off as a fluke.

_Once the system gets you in their sights..._ Danny said that to Flack once. The fear of it had nearly cost him his job. The truth of it could take away his father.

Danny shivered again but not because of the cold. Coming back to work was already turning out to be a bad move. He wouldn't be able to concentrate. Mac would see his distraction and try to confront him about it. Then Danny would have to tell. Whether Mac would want to help or not, Danny couldn't say.

Could Mac even help? Danny had been scrounging for a little hope when mentioning going to his boss and filling him in.

Danny wanted Mac's help because he didn't know what to do and knew that Mac would. Longer years of law enforcement experience always gave better insight to just about any predicament. But the Quinns were dangerous people, and it wouldn't be fair to get Mac or anyone else involved with the situation.

Danny stared hard at the doors leading into the building, and sighed. As far as today went, it was a little too late to turn back. He had already told Mac he would be coming in.

Besides, it had been his decision to begin with. Distracted or not, he wanted to work. He needed to.

Danny headed to the doors, anxious to get out of the cold before he coughed out a lung.

CSINY

" ... so this guy is hovering close enough for me to smell his breath," Stella said, " despite the fact that I'm holding up a severed hand that smells like turkey that's been in the sun four three days and still dripping... and the creep decides it's _okay_ to place his hand on my back so he can 'lean in' for a better look!"

She and Lindsay were negotiating the halls toward ballistics, with Stella gesturing animatedly as she talked.

" But that was just the start," Stella went on. " His hand starts moving down, inch at a time, until it was centimeters from my A--. I turn to tell him to back off, he does, then I turn again and his hand is right back where he left it. So, I conveniently – accidentally – move my arm so that it bashes his nose."

Lindsay chuckled. " Yeah, sounds justified to me. Think he'll be suspended?"

Stella smirked. " Nah. I didn't report him. I think he learned his lesson. Although I might have dropped something about it to Flack. I honestly don't think I'll be seeing that perv for a while."

Lindsay chuckled again, and Stella was still all smiles. It always felt good to get the upper hand when it came to hot-shot uniforms and their _busy_ paws. Plus it served as a warning and guide for new bloods like Lindsay. That, and Stella liked the bragging rights.

The cop had deserved it more than he knew. Diverted attention meant that anyone could walk right up and do whatever they wanted. Simply put, distraction was when the bad happened.

When the two women turned the corner, still laughing, both slowed, and Stella's smile and humor faded.

Danny was heading toward them with his eyes cast to the ground and his shoulders stooped. He looked up at the two women when he neared them, and the look on his face made Stella mentally stumble.

He was still a little pale which made the shadows under his eyes dark, and a little thinner, but that wasn't what caught Stella off guard. It was more his expression, but she couldn't pin-point exactly what it was she was seeing. Tension, yes, because his jaw was twitching with it. Unhappiness, worry, weariness? Maybe because of pain? Stella couldn't quite decide except to say that to her it was very unDanny.

" Hey Danny," Stella said. He slowed, and nodded a greeting to them.

" Hey Stella, Lindsay," he said, and continued on past them.

Lindsay did a double-take over her shoulder. " He called me Lindsay," she said, and looked at Stella. " He never calls me Lindsay."

" Hey Danny!" Stella called. Danny stopped and turned, so Stella walked quickly up to him, smiling warmly. " Back so soon?"

Danny shrugged his good shoulder. " Yeah. Sittin' around at home was starting to make my brain rot. Thought I'd better come in and try to save it."

Stella smirked. " Watching TV non-stop'll do that to you. But as long as you weren't watching action flicks and porn for twenty-four hours straight, it shouldn't be too bad."

Danny didn't even so much as crack a grin at her joke.

" I don't watch porn," Danny stated flatly. " Crap's more addictive than heroine. You know that?"

Stella raised her brow in surprise. " No, I didn't, actually. I was just kidding around, Danny." She grimaced. " Sorry."

Danny nodded. " Yeah. It's cool."

Stella folded her arms and shifted to her other foot uncomfortably. It had been a bad joke – really bad. Immature even, but she had been a little too taken back by Danny's sudden appearance to even think straight.

" You look... better," Stella said after a long moment of uneasy silence. It was the truth. His present appearance was an improvement to the sickly, white visage of only a week ago, and he had been supposedly recovering then.

" I feel better," Danny replied.

Stella nodded. _You don't look like you feel better,_ she thought, but kept the comment from slipping out. It didn't really matter how he looked. He was back, and the relief of seeing him back in the building almost made her hug him. But as Danny had once said of himself, he didn't cuddle. Neither did Stella, and that included brief hugs. The moment was already awkward enough.

Stella wanted to say something beyond just three words and stupid jokes. Hell, she wanted to place her hand on his shoulder just to see if he was really there. Her dreams for the past week had continually involved scenarios of Danny returning to work, and never seeing him at work in the waking world had actually depressed her.

The images of torn flesh and splintered ribs had her waking up in cold sweats. She had watched the young man slip towards death, witnessed the agony and terror of it. Now, here he was, in the flesh, recovered to a tolerable point, and all she could do was talk to him like she barely knew him and crack moronic jokes at his expense.

Stella took a deep breath. " Really?"

Danny's expression softened. " As best as I can be."

Stella furrowed her brow. _What the hell does that mean?_ But before he could ask, Danny jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

" Listen, I've got to go talk to Mac. I'll see you later, 'kay?"

Stella twitched her head as though trying to flick hair from her eyes. " Oh, yeah, sure."

Danny hesitated, and the look he wore – though brief – nearly broke Stella's heart.

Despair, utter despair. Maybe he was still in pain and trying to hide it, or maybe something else. She once read that near-death accidents could cause psychological scarring – namely in the form of depression. Whatever the reason, Stella had been about to ask Danny what was wrong, but what she saw vanished before she could.

Danny turned and went on his way.

" Danny?"

He paused and turned again.

Stella smiled. " Glad you're back."

He flashed her a quick, wan smile that wasn't fooling her for a second, then continued on.

Stella mentally kicked herself. She glanced back at Lindsay while pointing at Danny's retreating back.

" I think we need to keep an eye on him."

Lindsay, bewildered, nodded. " Yeah, I think you're right."

CSINY

Mac preferred having crime scene photos spread on the table rather than flipping through them one at a time. By seeing everyone of the pictures at a glance, connections had an easier time at popping out at him. For example; the complete lack of blood at the scene except for what leaked from the vic's head. No spatter, not even any drops forming a trail, and Mac and his team had combed that area four times.

Conclusively, the man hadn't been killed at the shipping yard, just dumped there.

Which meant the case had just taken another awkward step. First, the lack of a recovered bullet. Second, the video cameras having been disconnected. Now the possibility of another crime scene that would be a lot harder to find, or impossible to find if it had been cleansed.

Mac straightened and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then glanced at the clock. Danny would be here soon, if he wasn't here already.

Mac gathered up the photos and slipped them back into the folder, then headed from the room. He had to admit that he liked the new building. More rooms for more tables for one, and it was less drafty for another. The labs also felt less compact, even with all the equipment. And to top it off, Mac's office was more like an office and not an observation room.

On entering his office, he found it to be empty. He dropped the folder onto his desk while skirting around it and sat down with his eyes fixed on the door. He leaned back in the chair, waiting patiently for Danny's arrival, and continued his mental debate on whether he should let Danny get back to work or make him take a few more days of paid leave.

In all truth, Mac could use Danny's help. Leads were growing scarce and Mac needed the extra pair of hands and eyes to pick apart the evidence.

There came a soft knock at the door.

" Come in," Mac called. The door opened and Danny entered, looking a little run down but no worse for wear. For some reason, Mac had been expecting a far more haggard and sickly Danny, and was glad that his assumption was way off. He did look much better – more like he had suffered the flu rather than a lung and muscle infection.

But Danny wasn't the same, Mac saw that right off. His movements were slower, his expression tired, and his over all once-energetic persona subdued. He was probably still harboring some aches and stifling some coughs, but Mac wasn't going to hold that against him. Danny was mending, and given time the old Danny would emerge.

"Hey Mac," Danny said, sitting in the left hand chair on the other side of the desk. Mac took a moment to look him over more carefully. His scrutiny confirmed that Danny was indeed fit to work, but not at his usual intensity. He recalled the doctor's warnings - to Danny and those who had visited him - about being careful when it came to overexertion. Danny wasn't as fit as he once was, and a long way from it. He would tire easily – that was a certainty - and even now appeared to be breathing a little heavily with his face slightly flushed. Not that he would need some kind of nap time, but having him poke around the crime scene was probably out of the question.

" You really feel ready to come back, Danny?" Mac asked to start things off. " You can still take leave if you need to."

Danny shook his head. " No. I don't need more sick leave. What I need is to come back to work, get back into things. I'll just go nuts sittin' around at home. Nothin' much to do when you're arm's busted."

One corner of Mac's mouth turned up in a small grin. " Too true." He then slid the crime scene photos into Danny's reach. " I need you to take a look and those, and to read the files."

Danny leaned forward and opened the folder with his good hand.

" The victim's name is Victor Gerrard, according to his prints," Mac explained. " The guy has a mile long rap sheet – theft, extortion, and mob ties to say a few."

Danny's eyes flicked to Mac, then back at the photos. Mac took notice but didn't dwell on it.

Mac continued. " He was found in a shipping yard with half his brains blasted out the other side of his skull. Time of death puts his murder at forty-eight hours from when he was found. He'd been dead for two days. Not only that, he wasn't killed where he was found. No blood spatter anywhere. He was beaten, executed, then dumped where it would be some time before anyone discovered him. And with the wound being a through and through, there's no bullet."

" I'm guessing no prints either?" Danny asked, lifting a picture to bring it closer to his face.

" No fingerprints, and no reliable footprints. Our killer or killers were thorough. As for our vic, he had a lot of enemies. We're still trying to sort them out, see who we can bring in for questioning. We're up to five now."

Danny coughed and set the picture down. " All right then." He looked up at Mac. " What do you need me to do?"

" Help in the lab, for the most part."

Danny nodded once, excepting as though he had been expecting it. " Cool. I can do that."

" Talk to Lindsay. She's been going over Gerrard's clothes and needs a hand."

Danny nodded again. " Good. I just passed her and Stella coming in."

He handed the folder back to Mac and was about to rise when Mac held up his hand.

" Wait a minute. Before you go I need to make a few things clear. No overtime, you go home when your shift ends, or earlier if you feel you need it. Do not skip meals, and if you start to feel tired then take a break. If you start to feel ill, then stop what you're doing, rest, and go home."

Danny opened his mouth, about to speak, but Mac beat him to it.

" Don't tell me you feel fine, Danny. I know that you do, it doesn't mean you are. You still need to take it easy unless you want to get sick again. _Do not_ push yourself. If I feel things aren't working out, then I'm sending you back on sick leave. No questions, no complaints – you got that?"

Mac readied his retort against Danny's protest, so was a little taken back when Danny nodded.

" Yeah, sure Mac. I understand, I get it. No problem."

" Good," Mac said. " Now you can get to work."

Danny rose from his seat and left the room, shutting the door behind him. When he was gone, Mac reached for the file and pulled it toward him for another perusal. His gaze, however, remained glued to the door, seeing beyond it through the mind's eye.

Apprehensious as he felt for the young CSI's health status, he was glad that Danny had decided to come back. It wasn't the simple matter of just missing his presence as one misses an old friend on vacation. It had unsettled Mac not having him around considering why he hadn't been around to begin with. Danny getting sick had made it worse. There had been a constant feel of tension hanging in the air born from the continual, haunting thoughts that their was a possibility Danny might not make it.

That tension had eased as Danny recovered. Now it was gone all together.

Mac sure as hell hoped never to feel it again.

CSINY

A/N: If you're looking for a little supernatural reading, and are a fan of the new Night Stalker show that needs lots of support so that it may never be canceled, then please read my story My Dirty Little Secret. It has a lovely surprise ending. I enjoyed writing that story too much for it not to be read. So please give it a go... if you dare. Mwhahahahahaha!

And more people need to read Noodlepie's Strangers on a Train. It's awesome, consarnit! Lots of lovely Danny thrashing. And angst, so much angst!


	5. Ch 4

Ch. 4

" I started with the pants, at the cuffs, and worked my way up," Lindsay was saying as she laid out each article of clothing on the stainless steel table. There was a pair of stained and dirt-caked jeans, a white T-shirt, a plaid button shirt, a jean jacket, and a heavy black coat, plus socks and a pair of brand-new Nikes that looked pricey.

Lindsay looked over at Danny and gave him a brief smile. " It took me three hours just to get to the knee. This guy apparently got around before he died."

Danny moved in front of the T-shirt. " Yeah, or was dragged around as part of his beating." The T-shirt was as bad off as the jeans, peppered with dirt, blood, and who knew what else. In fact not a single scrap of the man's clothes was dirt-free. It was a practical buffet of evidence spread out on the table. By picking it apart, they would be able to determine just where the man had been before he died.

After laying out the clothes, Lindsay next set out the tools for processing – tweezers, small scissors, plastic bags, tape, and so on. Danny looked at each tool as though he were about to perform delicate surgery.

_How the hell am I supposed to do this? _Glad as he was to be back in the lab, his time spent away made him feel like a stranger – or a rookie. He knew what it was he was supposed to be doing, he just didn't know how to do it with one arm.

He started off simple by studying the shirt mottled with flecks of a substance too dark to be blood or dirt. Leaning in closer, he picked up a faint odor both unpleasant and vaguely familiar.

" Were these clothes always reeking?" he asked. Lindsay, snipping a small square from the jeans, nodded.

" Yeah." She turned her head to look at him. " Body oder, right?"

Danny leaned in closer to the shirt and sniffed. " There's that." He moved to the coat and lifted the sleeve toward his face. " It's different here though. Not B.O. but just as nasty."

Curiosity plain as a flashlight in the dark on her face, Lindsay stepped over by Danny and leaned in as well. " Kind of the same smell the pants have too. I'm still waiting for results on the stuff I took from the jeans yesterday."

Danny flipped the coat over to the back and the large, grease-like stain spread from shoulders to hem. He sniffed at it and grimaced in disgust.

" Smells kind of like fish. But... I don't know, there's something else. I can't smell it because the other scent's too strong."

Lindsay grabbed the scissors and began cutting a small square of stained fabric from the coat as Danny held it down with his one hand. She dropped the fabric into a sack, labeled it with a pen, then set it aside.

" So where's the rest of the gang?" Danny asked, reaching out to pick up one of the shoes. " Any new cases with them?" The tracks were packed with dirt. He held the shoe while Lindsay scraped the dirt with a scalpel into a plastic baggy.

" Well, Sheldon just finished up that case you and Stella started. You know, the one with that kid who was shot? The one..." She looked at him apologetically, twitching a nervous smile. " Well, um, you know the one."

Danny nodded in understanding. " I know the one. Hawkes filled me in on some of the progress when he visited. It was the kid's own brother, right? Not gangs or racists?"

Lindsay nodded sadly. " Yeah. The older brother had schizophrenia, and the younger brother was just trying to take care of him. I guess they didn't have the money for medication when the older brother went off and attacked the younger brother. Took the cops forever to find the guy. He'd been about to hang himself in some hotel room because of what he did."

" That's freakin' harsh," Danny said.

" Yeah, that's what I said. Well, not exactly in those words. Something like it though. Anyways, since there aren't any immediate cases I think Mac's having Sheldon look into your case for anything new..."

Danny's head shot up in alarm. " Mine?"

Lindsay closed up the baggy and set it with the others, then looked at Danny. " Yeah, your hit and run."

Danny relaxed though he had not realized he'd tensed up. He had registered Lindsay's words wrong. A bad sign since it indicated a lack of proper concentration.

" It's still open?" he casually asked. Lindsay gave him an odd look.

" Of course. As long as there aren't any immediate cases, Mac likes to have one of us look into it, see if we can't find something new. Stella was on it hard for a long time until she hit a dead end. She kept at it, then this Gerrard case came along and Mac made her stop." Lindsay went back to picking apart the jeans and its abstract patchwork of grime.

Danny was taken back, shocked, and made uncomfortable by a sudden onrush of guilt. Stella tearing into a hit and run like it was a murder, Mac managing to keep the case open... it wasn't that long ago that Danny had asked why no one had had his back. Yeah, he'd been scared at the time, but it had been a stupid thought, a mindless attitude to take.

Of course they had his back. But he didn't deserve it.

" You okay, Danny?" Lindsay asked. Danny flicked his eyes in her direction, breaking from his reverie.

" Yeah, great. Did they find anything? I mean did Stella find out anything?"

Lindsay pursed her lips in another expression of apology. " Not yet. Seems there wasn't much to go on."

Danny turned back to the coat. " I pretty much guessed that."

" Didn't Stella tell you this already?" Lindsay asked. " I thought she was keeping you informed?"

Danny shrugged. " Kind of hard to stay informed when you're too sick to know what day it is. That and I didn't really think to ask. To tell you the truth, the moment that car hit me was the moment I stopped thinking 'hey, a car just hit me, I hope we catch the bastard who was drivin' it'. It didn't really matter at the time. It still doesn't."

Lindsay sighed, shaking her head as she flipped the jeans over to pick at the other side. " Messer, you are a hard man to peg. I thought for sure that once you came back you'd be breathing down everyone's neck about who the guy was that hit you."

Danny took the tweezers to pick up what looked to be a hair from the coat. " It doesn't matter anymore," he mumbled without realizing it.

" What?"

Danny shook his head. " Nothin'."

CSINY

Danny wasn't feeling too hungry, but went for lunch all the same to placate Mac and be allowed to stay. He had forgotten to bring anything sack-lunch wise, so headed for the nearest food joint just a block up the street. It was a pizza place, not exactly an appealing choice when all Danny wanted was something small. But they had pasta dishes, so Danny went for a spaghetti and meatball with a bread stick. He doubted he would eat it all, yet even half eaten it would make a better meal than anything he could get from the vending machines.

The pizza place was small, with only four booths, but comfortably warm. There was a small crowd, but people seemed to take notice of Danny's bound arm and avoided bumping into him. He wasn't looking forward at having to head back out into the knife-sharp cold that was even worse than it had been this morning. After the girl behind the counter handed him his order, he turned, taking a deep breath to steel himself against the cold.

Danny stepped outside and winced when a breeze bit his face. He joined a small throng waiting to cross the street, and stiffened when the light changed for them to go. Crossing the street was even more of a challenge than getting near it while still on the curb. He kept his head down, walking fast, and did not look up again until he was on the other side. When he did look up, he nearly dropped his sack of food.

A man was leaning nonchalantly against the post supporting the streetlights. He was taller by several inches than Danny, with a heavier build and a slightly thick neck indicative of someone who was mostly hard muscle and little fat. His dark hair was combed back but with strands of it falling loose and framing his forehead. He was wearing a dark gray Armani coat buttoned up to his neck, and a gray scarf. His hands were in his pockets, maybe holding something, maybe hiding something, but it was not why Danny stopped and retensed.

Danny knew the guy and his self-assured, lop-sided grin that seemed forever plastered to his face. The heat of anger shot up Danny's spine to go raging through his brain, but all he could do was stand there and stare bullets at the man whose stance oozed indifference.

Finally, Danny snapped himself from his infuriated stupor and stalked straight up to the man. " What the hell do you want, Jack? Huh? What, you come here to make sure my dad keeps his end of the deal?"

Danny was standing inches from Jack, a dangerous spot if Jack was holding a gun. He could easily grab Danny by the collar, pull him forward, and shoot with the sound being muffled by their coats. But Danny knew good and well that it was not Jack's intention to shoot anyone.

Jack's grin broadened. " Didn't think you'd recognize me, Messer. What's it been, ten years? You were going to college..."

" Quinn!" Danny snapped. " I asked you a question. Quit jerkin' me and answer it!"

Jack pulled his black-gloved hands from his pockets and held them up as though showing Danny that he wasn't armed.

" Whoa! Easy there, Messer. I just want to talk, that's all. Catch up on a few things... How've you been, Danny?" Jack lightly flicked Danny's sling. " Not good, huh? How'd that happen? Bullet, bad take down, or did you just slip in someone's blood?"

" You tell me?" Danny shot back. " It just might be your handy work."

Jack's lips turned down in a thoughtful frown, then the smirk returned. " Can't say. Probably not."

Danny narrowed his eyes furiously. " _Probably not_! You messin' with me, Jack? Look, you got what you wanted. My dad's backing off. You really want to rock that boat right now? You plannin' something you might regret?"

Jack shook his head, sucking his teeth. " When did you get to be such a freakin' paranoid, Danny? You really think that's why I'm here, to start somethin'. You hurt me, Danny." Jack lowered his tone. " Your _really_ hurt me."

Danny studied Jack over, but the smirk was distracting him. The man was so much like a snake – not in the cliché terms of being slimy and a creep, though Danny would never dispute the creep part. With Jack it was more along the lines of him being cold-blooded, methodical, and difficult to read. As a kid, Danny had had a pet snake, a corn snake, and as far as snakes went, it had made a good pet. It had never bitten Danny or got out of its cage. But there had been times when it had made Danny hesitate about picking it up and handling it. Sometimes, it would be laying there, then jerk back as though about to strike. Other times, it would already be in the position to strike. As long as Danny had kept it fed, it had never attacked him, but even up to its death Danny had never fully trusted that snake.

Jack was more like the snakes found in the wild. Just approaching him as Danny had done was a danger in itself. Danny had learned that the hard way in the past, and even though they weren't kids anymore Danny's heart started hammering away out of lingering, habitual fear.

" Danny," Jack went on to say, " this is just a casual encounter since your pop and my pop are, once again, having to do business with eachother. Now, you've been around, know how we play things, and you're right, there's no need for hostilities. I'm just checkin' up, makein' sure your old man brought you up to speed on the situation. Not like it's a big deal or anything, what with your dad playin' by the rules and all. Plus, you know, we're playin' by the rules too. The thing is Danny – and this you need to keep in mind – people tend to get a little too comfortable when nothin' goes down. They think ' hey, it's cool, no bad's happened, I'm off the hook' right? Wrong, they're not. So, yeah, sometimes reminders are needed. That's why I'm here, as a reminder, nothin' more than that." Jack then winked. "You tell your dad, and he'll get the message. Cool?"

Danny's jaw tensed to the point that his teeth hurt, as did opening his mouth to speak. " Stay the hell away from me and my dad, then we'll be cool."

He made to brush past Jack, but Jack's hand shot out, grabbing Danny by the bicep of his injured arm. The sudden pull sent a white-hot flash of pain ripping through Danny's shoulder and down the right side of his ribcage. He dropped his sack, doubled over with a hissing intake of air, and grabbed Jack's wrist to try and yank it off. Jack's grip was firm as iron.

" It ain't that easy, Danny, you know that," Jack breathed in a low, dangerous undertone. He released Danny, and gave him a light pat in the middle of his back. " You need to get a little more meat on your bones, Messer. You're gettin' kind of sparse."

Danny straightened as much as he could, closing his eyes against the lingering throb in his arm. " Screw you."

Jack chuckled in good-humor. He then picked up the sack with the pasta and placed it back in Danny's hand. " See ya around, Messer. Say hi to your dad for me."

With that said, Jack sauntered off to be swallowed up in the crowds returning from lunch. Danny straightened more, wrapping his good arm still holding his sack around his side. There was still a slight twinge, but nothing he hadn't gotten used to.

He had more important matters to worry about. Quinn never made empty threats, or outright threats to begin with. With Jack, it started with innuendos, then ended with the bad.

" Bastard," Danny growled, and hurried back to headquarters, his appetite lost.


	6. Ch 5

Ch. 5

Danny was shaking, which wasn't any surprise to him. An equal cocktail of rage and pain would do that to a guy. His only concern was its lack of wearing off any time soon. It was mostly visible in his hands, especially while he was trying to eat, but seeing as how his appetite had been demolished his lunch was brief, too brief for anyone to walk in and witness the food continually falling off Danny's fork.

Not one to be wasteful, Danny stuck his lunch in the fridge with a label (never a good idea to leave a meal unmarked) then headed for the nearest database to look up info on Garrard and do a little catching up. He dropped himself in front of the first unoccupied screen and immediately regretted it when his arm pulled. He winced, hunching, and muttered a string of curses that would have made a sailor cringe.

Leave it to Jack to reawaken old wounds; figuratively and literally.

Danny stared at the screen all ready to receive the needed keywords. He was tempted, powerfully, to type in Quinn's name and see what came up. Nothing new, he could already guess that. If anything it would be mostly misdemeanors, traffic violations, and assault and battery all before Quinn hit the age of eighteen. Once the man had become too old for a juvenile detention center he started playing things a little more under the radar.

Danny knew what he would find, yet the desire to look tugged at him hard. The only thing holding him back was the chance of being caught, especially by Mac. The man was a former marine, and so had the knack for slipping in unnoticed. Once he saw what Danny was looking at, he would start asking questions, and Danny didn't want to have to lie, especially to Mac. Their friendship was probably hanging by a thread as it was.

Danny finally typed in Gerrard's name, and his file blinked onto the screen. Mac hadn't been exaggerating when he said that Gerrard's rap sheet was a mile long. The only crimes not mentioned were anything concerning assault, murder, rape, or molestation. He had tried robbing a bank once, which had landed him straight in jail. For the most part, his special trade appeared to be extortion through various scams. And like Mac had said, the man had mob ties. He had worked for several well known names, a few of which Danny knew through his dad rather than a police file, and it made Danny uncomfortable. As for what Gerrard did for these men, nothing was mentioned. Obviously Gerrard knew when to shut up when it came to the people he worked for. Danny was pretty certain, however, that Gerrard's extortion skills played a large part in his being hired by so many.

Any one of Gerrard's 'employers' would have motive to kill him. The same went for Gerrard's extorted victims. It was a shock he had lasted as long as he had, and Danny doubted any tears had been shed for the man.

Danny took his hand from the keyboard and lightly placed it on his shoulder as though trying to hold it together. A dull ache had remained after the flash of pain, and that ache was now becoming a little less dull, which meant the painkiller he'd taken was wearing off.

Danny sat back with a small grunt of discomfort.

_It was a threat. _Jack hadn't grabbed Danny's wounded arm just because it was convenient and Jack was forgetful.

But whether Jack would push things farther than hurting Danny's already broken arm, even Danny couldn't say. If Quinn was smart then he would stick with his little hints and not try anything that would cause Danny's father to have second thoughts about not testifying.

_Think again, Messer. _Danny knew better than to hold to that small hope that was nothing more than a thought. Quinn would try something. His threats were never empty, and he knew how to act while still remaining hidden in the shadows. Danny was living proof of it unto himself. As kids, when Jack wanted to play rough, he made sure to do any bruising below Danny's neck-line. If Danny told, then it was his word against Jack's, his father's protests against Al Quinn's overabundant pride for his bigger, tougher son.

So why did Al keep bringing Jack by even when Calvin expressly forbid it? Because of business. Al Quinn was a king – no, more like a shark – in the restaurant business. He had places established not just in New York but all over the states. But that wasn't why Calvin was always the middle man doing business with him for Ricky and the rest. The thing was, even today, Danny still didn't know what that _business_ had been exactly, because Calvin had always said that Danny was better off not knowing. Danny didn't want to know, really. It didn't matter in the long run. What mattered was, because of the older Quinn's earnings from his restaurants, the associations it helped him make, the associations it helped him maintain, and his predator cunning and callous, the man really was on top of the food chain. Calvin, despite his own name and associations, wasn't quite at Al's level to be able to tell him what to do.

So Al kept bringing his son.

As Danny reflected back on this, he realized that he must have known the position his father was in. Calvin, for a short while, had always assumed that Danny and Jack were just being boys – bad mouthing and duking it out after words. Danny ratted, of course, but he had only gone into the details a few times, like when Jack had smacked Danny in the back with a baseball bat, then when Jack had pinned Danny down with a knee in the chest. But Jack kept returning, and the details became obscured, even when Jack nearly choked Danny to death while holding him in a headlock, and dislocated his arm by twisting it behind Danny's back (Danny had said it happened when he fell out of a tree).

Danny, to his disgust, had been put in the uncompromising position of being a liar; number one, to spare his father the grief of the truth, and Number two, to save his own neck. The times Danny had told, the pain Jack liked to inflict increased, only to decrease when Danny proved that he could keep quiet.

Danny, his hand still on his shoulder, curled his fingers into a fist so tight his hand shook.

Jack really was a pro at making life hell. The guy was a sadist in the worst way in that he had the position and power to be as cruel as he wanted. It had only ended when Calvin had practiced a little cunning of his own and got Al to conduct all business at some elite, high-rollers club where privacy was made a specialty.

Calvin hated that club. His membership had always been assured, but he had never used it and had always bad-mouthed the place. Then came that gypsy cab mugging, and Calvin began doing a lot of things he didn't like.

Danny's chest tightened as though someone had twisted a vice around it.

_He's going to jail for me._ It wasn't a first realization, just one he couldn't dwell on. It was too much, too hard – hell, getting hit by the car had been less painful. Neither Calvin or Danny were the type to say I love you, but they didn't have to. They had their actions which always said what words never could.

Danny closed his eyes. This is exactly what he'd been worried about; losing focus. When he opened his eyes, he saw the rap sheet vanished to be replaced by the screen saver. Danny hit the enter key, then redirected the screen back to the opening, ready to receive new keywords. Danny's shoulder was starting to throb, and with his watch reading six o'five he decided now was as good a time as any to call it quits for the day. Were things back to the way they were, Danny wouldn't be heading home until eight, and that was only if he had nothing left to do.

Danny rose carefully from his seat and headed out toward the locker room. He tried to move his thoughts back to the Gerrard case, and couldn't. While walking, he kept his head down to avoid anyone's eye contact. The tightness in his chest was still constricting, rising up to become a tightness in his throat. And he was fairly certain that, emotion-wise, all one had to do was look at his face to know that something was up.

Danny quickened his steps, ignoring everything, until he reached the safety of the empty locker room. He headed to his locker, throwing the door open and pulling out his bag, swinging it onto his working shoulder. He then turned, and taking a deep breath, headed out of the room, once again walking quickly in avoidance of everyone else.

" Hey Danny?"

Danny's heart lurched as though trying to leap out of his mouth. He tried to continue on as though he hadn't heard, then felt a hand land on his arm. He slowed, stopped, and turned to see Stella smiling at him.

Danny's heart plummeted. Besides Mac, Stella wasn't exactly someone he could just brush off. Yet of everyone, she had been the one he had been least eager to confront.

He cleared his throat that was being stubborn about loosening. " I was just headin' out. Mac's orders I head home early. Did you need something? Because – you know – it might have to wait. I mean, unless it can't..."

Stella's smile faded into a small frown. " You okay Messer?"

Danny cleared his throat again. " I'm, you know, just a little tired."

Stella, her brow scrunched, nodded thoughtfully. " Oh. Well, I won't keep you. I just wanted to know how things went, if you're caught up on the case... General stuff."

" You mean, how my day went?"

The corner of Stella's mouth twitched up into a smile and she folded her arms. " Yeah, exactly."

Danny shrugged. " Can't really complain. It's an interesting case, but it's kinda hard to be helpful when you've only got one arm workin' for you. But I can say that I'm pretty much caught up."

" Any theories?"

Danny sighed. " Yeah, the butler did it. Plus his mom, neighbors, some guy from Milwaukee... The man had enemy's coming out his A--. There's no wonder why the guy's dead."

Stella set her mouth in a straight line and nodded. " Sad, isn't it? Listen, I'll let you go. You're coming in tomorrow, right?"

_If I can keep focused._ " Yeah, probably. Beats sittin' around, watching everything except porn."

Stella grinned. " I like a man who has his limits." Her expression then softened. She looked about ready to say something, like she wanted to say something or ask something, but getting the words out was like trying to gather water in a colander. She just couldn't do it.

But Danny had a pretty good idea what it was. Or, at least, what it involved.

" I'm fine Stella," he said. Danny felt sick saying it. He was _not_ fine. He was lying again, as though lying were a drug Jack always brought with him and force fed Danny.

He also knew Stella wasn't naïve or blind. The woman was a veteran CSI, able to spot a white hair on a white carpet from seven feet away. She could sniff out a lie like a bloodhound, and read expressions like a toddler's picture book. She knew the truth without having to hear the truth.

" You sure?" she asked.

Danny nodded. He wanted to tell, he really did. But even more, he didn't want her involved, not with Jack lurking around, watching and waiting.

Stella furrowed her brow, and Danny tensed in ready for more prodding questions. Stella opened her mouth, ready to speak, only to sigh and clap her jaw shut.

" Okay. Go home, get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

A bitter taste crawled into Danny's mouth. " Yeah, see ya, Stel."

She gave him a quick smile that did poorly at hiding the concern written in every line of her face. When she turned, walking away, the tightness returned wrapping around his chest and throat. He turned as well, and quickened his steps until he was out of the building. Once in the frozen evening air lit by street lamps and the warm, golden lights pouring from windows, Danny slowed and let out a shuddering breath.

He felt sick with guilt, sick with sorrow, sick with himself for lying to Stella's face like he had, and irritated by Stella's unfailing perception. Mac he probably could have handled better, even wanted to deal with. Mac would have forced the truth from him, then Danny could have told and gotten it all out...

No, he would have lied to him too. Mac would have been angry. But Stella... Everything she had said, her expression, even her stance, had spoken nothing but absolute worry. She had witnessed him get shredded by a freakin' car. Danny couldn't say for sure what that must have been like for her, but it sure as hell wasn't exactly something someone forgot over time. Stella was the strong able-to-handle-anything type, and for her to still have issues with this whole hit and run incident unsettled Danny.

_I'm alive and she's still worried. So I lie to her?_

Danny's heart began pounding out of fury, both because of Jack and because of himself. But the truth wasn't a luxury he could afford at the moment. No one else could get involved. Careers and lives would be at stake if they did. That would be worse than lying.

Danny kept his head down against the stinging flurries of snow that began to pelt the earth and everything on it. He made his way to the subway, too preoccupied to care about the discomfort milling crowds would cause. He barely noticed much heading down into the tunnels, paying his way then entering the crowded underground train. He stayed standing, too tense and agitated to sit. Once the train came to his stop, he moved with the crowds flowing methodically off the train, irritated by their proximity and the inability to move at the pace he wanted. Once out, he walked fast again, making his way out back into the cold and the flurries that had now become thick flakes of snow. The frigid air and tension made him shiver, but it was only a background annoyance to him.

His place was only two blocks away, too far in his opinion when all he wanted to do was get home, away from people and their uncanny ability of being secretly observant. He needed some alone time, a massive amount of space, and a lack of anybody to attack him with questions.

His building was the third down around the corner. He maneuvered around people heading home from their own places of work, anxious to get out of the cold but not as anxious as him. He had his keys ready, and nearly dropped them when he threw open the doors to his building, but caught them while catching the door with his foot. He walked in backwards, then spun around and hurried to the elevator before it shut. Much to his relief, it was empty, but he wasn't going to relax until he was in his own place.

He hit the third floor button, and the elevator started up with the usual unsettling lurch. Danny stared at the floor, tapping his foot in frustration at how slow elevators tended to be. When it came to a sluggish stop with a loud ding, Danny angled himself to slip through the doors before they had a chance to open all the way. An elderly lady let out a small cry of alarm at his sudden emergence, and he blurted out an apology without slowing or truly acknowledging her.

He finally came to his door, and shoved the key in, twisting it hard since the lock had the tendency to stick. He then shoved the door open and strode inside, dumping his bag to the floor by the door. He slammed the door behind him with a muttered curse and dropped back against it.

There was no relief. If anything, he felt even more constricted, more uncertain, worried, and scared. He had been trying so hard not to let what was happening get to him, to distract him, but so much for trying. He had to remind himself, over and over, that just because his father might go to jail didn't mean he would. This agent Stevenson could not be so cold as to lock his dad away with people bound to kill him. And even if he was, Calvin's family wouldn't let it happen. Whatever their feelings toward Danny, they shouldn't, _wouldn't_, hold it against Calvin, not after all he had done for them.

The more Danny thought this, the more the tightness eased up until his throat stopped aching and the moisture dancing on the edge of his eyelids dried up. They were placating thoughts mostly, nothing that was a certainty, but they were all he had to cling to for the time. Besides, they were plausible. No way could things turn out as badly as Calvin had said.

No way.

Danny pushed himself away from the door - unbuttoning his coat to let it fall to the floor - and headed into the kitchen. He had left his spaghetti back at work, but wasn't particularly hungry to begin with. Yet his stomach begged to differ, so he grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured some milk, which was better than nothing. He took a few sips while heading to the living room where he could sit and remove his shoes. Halfway there, he stopped and downed the rest of the glass, wiped his mouth, then continued on. He lowered himself onto his couch, setting the glass on the wood coffee table next to a dog-eared sports magazine. With a moan of discomfort he leaned forward to untie his shoes, only to pause.

Nausea hit him like a sudden punch to the gut. His stomach churned, and bile shot burning into his throat.

" What the hell...?" he began, but talking had been a mistake. He pushed himself off the couch like a shot, and half ran/half stumbled into the kitchen. He was barely two steps in when it came up, splashing onto the floor and causing him to stagger to a stop and double over. When the vomiting paused, he faltered the rest of the way to the sink and leaned over it, panting and waiting. Nothing happened, then he gagged, and heaved, spewing up a little more. He closed his eyes, waited again, then gagged again and choked up a thin stream of liquid.

Then he felt better. Completely, undeniably better as though nausea had never even hit.

He gripped the edge of the sink, dropping his head with a muttered swear, clenching his jaw until it hurt. He then snapped his head back up and walked furiously to the fridge. Yanking it open, he pulled out the milk, snapping off the cap then sniffing the jug's contents. It smelled fine, but he wasn't taking any chances. Heading back to the sink, he poured it out and watched it slip down the drain along with the vomit, feeling it insufficient punishment even for a food.

Once the milk was gone he tossed the jug in the trash, then turned to lean with his lower back resting against the edge of the sink. He glared at the splattered white mess on the floor.

" Sucks to be you, Messer," he said, drumming his fingers against the sink. He turned and crouched to get the disinfected.

" On the plus side," he mumbled as he opened the cupboard beneath the sink, " at least you didn't get it on the carpet."

His mother had always told him to try and remain optimistic. He had yet to master keeping out the sarcasm.

CSINY

A/N: I really can't say if the characters have their own cars or not, but for the sake of this story, let's just say they don't. Vomiting sucks! So does ABC for canceling Night Stalker during a cliff-hanger episode. Grrr! A pox on them!

Jade Eclipse - You kind of freaked me out with the size of your comment. At first I thought it was going to be a list of major flaws that needed immediate correcting. But after reading it, I really appreciated it. Long comments are fun to read as long as they don't read "you've made the following errors" or something like that. I'm a bit of a perfectionist so mistakes drive me nuts.

As for my Night Stalker story, it would help a little if you knew the show, but it doesn't matter now because it was cancelled (Waaaaaaahhhhhhh!). Really, though, all you need to know is that the show _was_ about a guy, a news reporter, whose wife was killed by a strange creature one night. The guy (Carl) was driving with his wife somewhere when it burst through the windsheild, dragged her off, and ripped out the fetus she was carrying. Carl was left with many questions and a strange mark on his wrist. My story is an exploration into what the creature might have done to him, a what-if story. The show itself was about him looking into strange occurences (like hauntings and demon posession) hoping to find answers to what happened the night his wife died. It was a really good show starring Stuart Townsend who I like because he is both hot and creepy, which made the character cool. It was canceled this week and I miss it already. (Waaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh! Again.)


	7. Ch 6

Ch. 6

Danny lay on his back staring up at the indigo dark ceiling, and had been for the past four minutes. Only a minute to go before his alarm shrieked its incessant, nerve shattering beep that always made him cringe even when he was awake. Without looking, he reached out to his side table and felt around until his hand found the clock, then flipped off the switch for the alarm. He stayed prone for that remaining minute until he finally threw back the covers and pushed himself up with one arm.

He was wearing black sweats, a gray sweater, and socks, but the cold hit him hard and fast all the same. Shivering, he pulled his legs from beneath the flipped-back blanket to plant his feet on the cool wood floor, running his hand through his mussed hair.

The only sickness he felt was that of hunger from skipping dinner and puking up everything else. His arm and side ached; nothing an Aspirin couldn't remedy. All in all, he was as fine as he could be for still recovering. No reason to stay home, much to his relief. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled from his room to the bathroom, beginning his arduous journey of getting ready for work. First step, removing the sling, then maneuvering out of his sweater without aggravating his arm. Following that he unwound the bandages around his chest and arm, gathering them into a ball and setting them on the edge of the sink.

His right side was facing the mirror. It had become a habit of his to look at his reflection and the stitches holding together his marred flesh. The infections had slowed the healing process so that stitches were still required. There were three in all running perpendicular down his still bruised ribcage, and once removed Danny would have one hell of a scar.

Arm cradled against his chest, shoulders hunched, ribs protruding ever so slightly, scarred and shadow-eyed, Danny had to turn away in disgust. He looked weak, pathetic, like something the dog had chewed and discarded. He hurried through the rest of the torment that was the beginning of his day; trying to shower then dress in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt without upsetting his arm. He felt better once he was in clothes and didn't have to look at himself and what his body had become. Physical alterations were easily remedied, but it was going to take time for him to get back to the way he had been. Weight loss was not the issue, muscle deterioration was. Lack of use and infection had weakened his right side in a way that would take months to rehabilitate.

With his milk gone, Danny settled for frying up some scrambled eggs and toasting some bread. He dumped both onto a plate when they were done, and downed them quickly. Once finished, he gathered stuff from his fridge - bread, meat, lettuce, mustard, and an orange to form into a quick lunch so he didn't have to go out and buy anything. He put it in a paper sack and dropped it into his bag still by the door. After that, he took various prescribed medications from off the counter and set them in a row on the table. He took each pill one at a time with a full glass of water, plus some vitamin C and D. Say for the Aspirin and vitamins, it was all a necessary aggravation to prevent infections from returning and spreading.

His final act before heading out was to fill a small thermos full of orange juice. Coffee was out of the picture until the medication wasn't needed anymore, since one of the bottles warned against the pill being taken with caffeine. With that done, he grabbed his bag and headed out to attempt another ride on the subway.

It was another cold and overcast day, but not cold enough to allow the snow from last night to remain. Danny's breath rose up as thin tendrils of mist that slowly evaporated away. The misting stopped when he entered the subway tunnel, caught up in the river of bodies flowing down the steps toward the awaiting train. Danny carefully clutched his shoulder protectively but even that couldn't stop people from bumping it and sending waves of discomfort rushing through his body. Danny just sighed and took it since there wasn't much else to be done. The train was a little more tolerable since people weren't moving as much. Plus the Aspirin had kicked in, so he took the train a little farther than he had the other day.

Once free from the confinement of the subway and its crowds, and heading toward work, Danny pulled out the thermos. He slowed on uncapping it and took a long drink, then picked up his pace in a rush to get out of the cold.

He was almost there, only a few more steps to go. Then nausea hit much as it had the other night - causing Danny to drop the thermos - and Danny barely lurched to the side in time before vomit came tearing out of his throat. He doubled over with his hand pressed flat against the wall of the building as his breakfast and drink was washed back up. He heaved three times, and then the nausea was gone just as quickly as it had come.

Danny spat remaining junk and straightened, looking back at the thermos still rolling around on the sidewalk in a pool of orange juice.

" Son of a..." Danny hissed. He turned and crouched to snatch up the mug and dump the rest of the juice furiously. He had never thought that orange juice could go bad. Then again, maybe it hadn't been the juice but the eggs or toast. Whatever the case, he would have to retake the medication as soon as he got home.

" A little under the weather, Messer?"

Danny snapped his head around and felt his blood drain to his feet on seeing Flack standing four feet off to the right. The tall, lanky detective had his hands in the pockets of his black leather coat while regarding Danny with the narrow-eyed incredulity normally reserved for suspects.

Danny shook the last few drops from the thermos and screwed the cap back on with three irritated twists. " I ate something that didn't agree with me."

Flack leaned his head slightly to one side. " You sure about that?"

Danny jammed the thermos back into his bag. " Yeah, Flack, I'm sure. No fever, no aches, and the need to puke is gone. It happened to me last night after I drank some bad milk, so obviously something else in my fridge went bad too. Point in fact, my fridge is due for a serious overhaul."

Flack's dubiety wouldn't fade from his face, and it was irking Danny to an uncontrollable point.

" I'm fine Don," he said a little more sharply than intended. " Honest. Just having a bad morning, that's all."

Flack nodded. " I can see that. Maybe you should start considering having nothin' but take out. Beats playing Russian Roulette with the stuff in your fridge."

Danny couldn't help a small, bitter laugh. " Yeah, for real, right?" He and Flack walked the rest of the few feet to the door and went inside. Danny headed for the nearest water fountain off to his left to rinse his mouth and suck down as much water as he could. Puking really could take a lot out of a guy, and not just food.

To add to his growing tower of annoyances, Danny was hungry again, but didn't know whether he should risk eating anything for a while.

With his thirst at least satisfied, Danny rejoined an awaiting Flack, and they both made their way to the elevator. Don started talking about the time, back in his rookie days, when he had puked all over the floor of his superior's office thanks to a bagel with some bad cream cheese.

" Thought for sure my A-- was fired," he said as he hit the button for the doors. " But Fred just laughed and told me to get the custodian. You're lucky, Messer. If you'd puked on Mac's floor – or heaven forbid his shoes – I don't think he would have been laughing."

Danny lifted his shoulder tiredly. " Doubt he would have fired me."

" For what?"

Both Danny and Flack whirled around to see Mac standing behind them.

" Hey Mac," Danny said nervously, hoping Mac had caught only that last statement of the conversation.

" Puking in your office," Flack replied, smirking. Danny shot Don his most withering glare that he hoped read 'I'm picturing a thousand ways of making you pay right now.'

" Who was sick?" Mac asked with his eyes already fixed on Danny.

" Bad OJ, Mac, I swear. I think my fridge might be busted or something."

Mac cocked both his eyebrows. " Or something?"

" I'm fine, Mac," Danny pressed. He was tired of having to keep saying it, especially since today – in terms of feeling nauseas – it was the truth.

Mac stared at Danny, hard, and long enough to make Danny internally squirm.

" Good," Mac said after a moment, still staring. " Because I need you to come with me to the morgue after you drop off your stuff."

The elevator doors opened, and three people filed off, forcing Danny and Flack to step to the side.

" I'll wait here for you," Mac said. Danny entered the elevator with Flack, and the moment the doors slid closed he breathed out a sigh of relief. Then he turned his glare back on Flack.

The detective stiffened. " What? So you puked. It's not like he's gonna fire you for it."

" No, just send me home," Danny caustically replied.

" That so bad? A little more time off? Hell, I'll trade you for that."

Danny looked up at the light jumping from one number to the next, and began twitching his leg. " Cabin fever Flack. You sit around at home with nothin' to do for too long, you start thinking too much."

" Oh yeah? What do you have to think about that you don't want to?"

Danny didn't reply to that.

CSINY

Sid was ready and waiting by the chalk-white corpse of Gerrard when Mac and Danny approached. The ME did a double take on seeing Danny, then smiled.

" Look who's back," he said, leaning with both hands on the edge of the table suspending Gerrard's body. " Of course from what Hawkes told me I didn't expect to see you for another week or so." Then, as though suddenly realizing something, Dr. Hammerback straightened and took a step back. " Your – uh – your lungs are cleared up, right? Hawkes said you had pneumonia or an infection...?"

Danny gave the doctor a heavy-lidded look. " My lungs are clean."

Sid visibly relaxed and twitched a quick smile. " Good." Then stepped forward.

" But my doctor was kind of concerned about the possibility of a flesh eating virus," Danny added.

Sid stiffened again.

" Kidding, doc," Danny replied, smirking. " Never took you to be a germ-a-fobe."

Dr. Hammerback wrinkled his brow in confusion. " I'm not. I've just had experience with pneumonia and would very much like to avoid it in the future."

Danny smirked again. The doctor was a strange, sometimes twitchy man, but in an amusing way.

" Now that we're done with the 'hellos'..." Mac said, then gestured at the lifeless Gerrard. " Take a good look, Danny. I need you to become familiar with Mr. Gerrard, specifically the nature of his injuries."

Danny studied the body over. Normally he would take all bruises and cuts in at a glance, but his gaze went straight to the jagged autopsy stitches forming a Y on the bruise-mottled chest. The similarities they had with his own stitches made him swallow in discomfort. Same went for many of the bruises, and Danny actually found himself feeling sorry for the guy.

Gerrard – thirty-seven – was of medium height and medium build, with dark brown hair receding back some from the forehead and forming a sharp widow's peak. He had a round face with a small but sharp nose, and several tattoos half-obscured by the bruises on his arms. Standing out like the empty socket for a third eye in the middle of the man's forehead was the bullet hole.

" Severe beating followed by a through and through shot," Danny summarized.

" Severe is an understatement," Hammerback said. " This man was – I suppose you could say – pulverized. Both arms broken in three places, broken jaw, ribs shattered, and each individual finger snapped," Sid pulled his own finger back as far as it would go comfortably, " backwards."

Danny blinked in alarm. " He was tortured," he stated. " Sounds... sounds mob style."

The fingers had been the give away. Jack had broken three of Danny's fingers in a similar manner, snapping them back one by one all while bragging about how his cousin had taught him how to do it. It wasn't an action uniquely affiliated with any one gang or group, just a popular method of torture among those who practiced organized crime.

The gypsy cab driver who had beaten Danny and his dad had lost the use of his own fingers the moment he was tossed behind bars. As a kid, Danny had overheard Calvin mention it to someone over the phone, and without the least bit of remorse for the man.

Danny hadn't felt remorse either.

" That's my theory," Mac said. " Torture, clean scene, death execution style – but that still doesn't mean it was mob related. You don't always have to be part of a crime family to know it's dirtier details."

" Plus the _Godfather_ movies have been known to give people ideas," Sid added. Mac grinned at that, but Danny turned his gaze to the floor uneasily, then back to the body when the unease past. He really was starting to pity Gerrard.

" If it is mob related, it's going to make this case a lot harder," Danny said.

Mac nodded. " Exactly. I've interviewed four guys already associated with a few of the men Gerrard was employed with. They deny it, of course, and at the same time drop the hint that it was some other guy from some other family. So we bring that guy in, and he does the same thing. It's like watching a twisted game of tag. The thing is, I'm starting to think that none of them are the ones we want. Call it a gut feeling."

Danny looked at Mac. " Thought you didn't believe in gut feelings?"

" I believe in them," Mac replied. " I just don't listen to them until I know what the evidence has to say. And right now there's not much evidence to go by."

They were finished with the body, so Sid zipped it back up and slid it into the frozen crypt. Danny and Mac began heading from the morgue.

" Danny, I know I already asked this, but I'm going to ask it again and I want a straight answer from you. Are you sure you're feeling fine? You looked a little pale back there."

Danny adjusted the strap to his sling, trying to ease the sudden appearance of another ache in his shoulder. " Yeah, Mac, I'm good. It's just, you know..." he looked at Mac sheepishly, cringing at how pathetic he knew he was sounding, " bad, um..." he sighed. " Bad memories."

Mac nodded and said nothing else.

" Hey, Mac?" Danny said as they exited the morgue into the hall.

" Yeah?"

" Lindsay told me, the other day, that you've been keeping my case going?"

" Yeah. No leads yet."

Danny nodded. " I know. I just, um, wanted to say... I guess... It's no big deal if you don't find the guy. I don't really care about that. I know this isn't something I can just set aside and forget, but I don't want to dwell on it forever either. And I don't want anyone else to have to dwell on it. It happened, I survived – personally, that's all that matters."

Mac placed his hand on Danny's arm, halting him, then turned to face the younger man. " Are you saying to just go ahead and drop the case?"

Danny looked down at the floor. " I..." was that what he was saying? Truthfully, he didn't know what it was he was trying to say. It had started out as mere curiosity that had now turned into the start of some kind of confession. He would never forget what happened to him, and neither would anyone else, but that did not stop his desire for everyone to just forget, or to at least put it behind them so he could do so as well. He couldn't forget, yet neither did he want to be reminded of it so much, every single minute and everywhere he went.

He let out a short, nervous laugh. " I have no idea what the hell I'm saying Mac." He then looked up at his boss, meeting his gaze. " Yeah, maybe. I just... Really don't think it matters any more."

Mac took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Expression-wise, Mac was hard to read, but Danny sensed no anger from him, or frustration. Mac was a pro at intimidation, yet at that moment it was as though he had shut it off through some unseen switch, and all that remained was – not pity or concern – but sympathy. Mac knew, he understood.

" I'm sorry, Danny, I can't do that. Someone tried to run down a cop, and they need to pay for it. They might also be a danger to others."

Danny inclined his head with his own understanding. " Yeah, Good point. But, just so you know, it really doesn't matter, at least not to me. No desire for revenge or anything like that. Just the desire to get back to my life."

Mac smiled. " Good desire to have. Stay healthy, keep recovering, and it should."

_That easy. Yeah, right._ But Danny kept his tongue in check and only nodded.

CSINY

Danny tossed his sack onto the table of the break room, then set the soda from the vending machine beside it and sat in the gray plastic chair. The TV showed the weatherman going on about another chance for snow tonight that would let up by morning. After the report and a commercial, some soap opera faded back into play, and Danny mentally made fun of it as he unwrapped his sandwich.

The story line was simple. Someone had cheated on someone else, so that someone else was cheating on them to get them back.

Lindsay walked in then, setting her own brown paper-sack of food onto the table, then sitting adjacent to Danny. He gestured at the TV.

" You ever watch any of these?" he asked her. She looked up at the show as she unrolled the top of her sack, then shrugged.

" My mom was really into _All My Children_ and got me hooked for a while, until I finished college. Not much time for soaps now though, obviously. What about you?"

Danny looked at her with the same heavy-lidded glare he had given Hammerback. " Do I look like a soap junkie?"

Lindsay, pulling out her own sandwich, smiled sweetly at him. " I can't say. I don't know you that well. You might be full of all kinds of surprises."

" Watching soaps isn't one of them," Danny stated. He took a bite of his sandwich and watched as some buff, super-model type male had a screaming match with some wire-thin supermodel female. " Bet those two are really brother and sister or something. People sleep around enough on these things to practically be related to eachother."

" I thought you said you didn't watch soaps?" Lindsay said with a smirk.

" My mom did. And I will confess that I did watch this one soap while I was laid up on the couch trying to keep my lung from coughing itself out. The story had to do with aliens and some wacko scientist. I almost undid my stitches laughing at the freakin' thing, and making fun of it."

Lindsay held up a finger as she finished chewing her next bite of sandwich. " Actually, I've found myself watching for that same reason... and doing the same thing. Hey, listen, I finally got the results back on the analysis we did of the stuff we found on Gerrard's clothes. You were right about the fish smell, or fish oil to be exact. I also found what turned out to be fish skin - pink salmon - plus some oyster juice."

Danny took a sip from the soda, then began peeling the orange. " So our vic was around a lot of sea food. The docks?"

" That's my guess. Here's the thing, though. I also found motor oil and gasoline on his pant leg and sleeves."

" He was found in a shipping yard," Danny said.

" Actually, both stains could have come from the yard if he'd been put in a bin that had been used to haul fish and was never properly cleaned. The thing is, there was a lot of both, more than what would be found left over from bins or trucks. I'm thinking he might have made a stop at the junkyard _and_ the docks."

Danny grimaced. " We got a lot of both."

Hawkes walked in then, carrying a sub wrapped in paper and a bag of chips. He was humming a song, but stopped humming and slowed when he saw Danny.

" I heard you came back yesterday," Sheldon said, setting his food down across from Danny. As Hawkes sat, he looked Danny up and down. Danny found it annoying, yes, but kept his tongue in check. Hawkes was a man of medical science more than just science, and Danny knew that for the former ME assessing injuries had become a habit of his.

The look on Sheldon's face did not confirm whether he approved or disapproved of what he saw.

" I was going to drop in and say hi," Hawkes said, " but you were already gone."

Danny tossed peeling into his sack. " Mac's orders. No overtime whatsoever."

Sheldon popped open his bag of chips and smiled. " Glad to hear you're obeying."

Danny gave an indifferent shrug. He didn't hold it against Sheldon for continually acting all _doctorly_. If anything, he was thankful for it. Hawkes had understood, right off the bat, the full extent of Danny's injuries. He had explained to Danny, in plain English, the infections that had invaded his lungs and muscles. He had also made it his duty to check up on Danny, in the flesh, when he had been released from the hospital.

There had been a stint during Danny's illness in which he had been so drained that he could barely move his arm. Hawkes had come in for another check, and remained over night making sure that Danny had plenty of water within reach. If their friendship had only been an acquaintanceship before, it was solid now.

" You're taking the antibiotics, right?" Sheldon asked.

Danny smiled. " Yes mom, I'm taking my medicine."

Hawkes grinned back. " Good boy."

Lindsay snorted out a derisive laugh. " You two are strange, very strange."

Danny chuckled, and lifted his sandwich for another bite.

Nausea reared it's ugly head, kicking out fast as a mule, making Danny's gut churn in fury. He gasped, dropping his sandwich, then tore from his seat, knocking it over as he stumbled to the waste basket in the corner. He fell to his knees just as bile rose like a burning geyser into his throat, then spilling from his mouth with one massive heave that caused his ribs to cramp. He inhaled, and gasped again at the pain it caused.

He heard a chair scrape across the floor.

" Danny?" Hawkes said, and Danny felt the doctor's hand lightly touch his back. He heard another scrape, and saw Lindsay kneeling next to him out of the corner of his eye.

Then he puked again, causing both his coworkers to jerk back. The second heave was more massive than the first, though less came up. It left him coughing, panting, and shuddering with revulsion. He stayed leaning over the waste basket, just in case.

" Danny?" Lindsay said. Danny rolled his eyes in her direction and saw her concern lined in alarm. He spat junk into the basket and shook his head.

" Okay, that's it, I'm getting a new fridge," he moaned.

" What, you're saying this is food poisoning?" Sheldon asked.

" Well, considering I only puke every time I try to eat something, yeah." He straighted, sitting back on his legs. " Then I puke, and I'm cured. What else would you call it, doc?"

" Like you need a new fridge. But I'd go to the doctor if I were you, just to make sure. It might not be your food but your body rejecting food. After the crap you've been through, you really need to play it safe."

Danny spat again then wiped his mouth. " You're probably right."

" He is right."

Sheldon, Danny, and Lindsay snapped their heads around to look up at Mac standing in the doorway, his hands in his pocket. Danny cringed slightly.

" Mac..."

Mac lifted his hand, stopping Danny before he went on. " I know, Danny. But like Hawkes said, you need to play it safe. Take tomorrow off, go to the doctor, and if it is your food that's the problem, then get your fridge fixed. If it's not, then it's sick leave whether you like it or not. For now, go home, get some rest and some food that you can trust."

Danny knew he couldn't argue and win. He wanted to since he felt fine now, but truth be told he didn't trust his own body at the moment, not with all the crap it kept putting him through. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing when he swallowed the sour taste of vomit. " All right Mac."

Mac gave Danny a warning look, then turned and left the break room

" You sure you're all right, Danny?" Lindsay asked. Danny glanced at her, and was a little surprised by the small glimmer of fear betrayed in her eyes.

Yes, she didn't know him that well, but she had also visited him in the hospital a few times.

Danny opened his mouth, ready to respond with his usual mantra, then clapped it shut.

" You know what? Save that question and ask me again on Thursday, when I get back. Don't wanna jinx anything right now."

Hawkes clapped him on the shoulder. " Don't you mean you wouldn't want to add to the jinx you seem to already have?"

Danny turned to glared at the partially eaten sandwich. " Good point." He grabbed the sandwich, sack, and orange, and slammed all three into the vomit-splashed waste basket.

CSINY

A/N: Yuck! Anywho, I apologize to anyone who is really into soap operas. But you have to admit, some of them do get pretty stupid. The mention of _All My Children_ is dedicated to my mom. Soaps do have an annoying allure at times, but thanks to her, I never have to watch any of the episodes, just ask her what happened, who did what, and so on. I find it humorous how a soap can take a one day holiday like New Years and drag it out for weeks and weeks and weeks (same goes for people trapped in a fire) and yet you'll have a kid who's twelve one month, and twenty the next month.

What is going on? Do you think you know? Just you wait.


	8. Ch 7

A/N: Inconsiderate me, I forgot to thank everyone for all their mighty fine reviews. Left over Halloween candy for everyone! Don't worry, it's the good stuff.

Ch. 7

" This is some pretty solid stuff they got on you Cal," Evans said, shaking his head and setting the two sheets he'd been holding back into the brown folder. " Separately they might have put you away for one or two years. But together you're lookin' at a hell of a lot longer."

Joe Evans could be classified as a throw-back from the forties, even though he'd only been a kid during that era. He was a few years older than Cal, with dark silver hair that he kept neatly swept back, and was dressed in a dark gray suit. When he first came to the door yesterday, he'd been wearing a tan over coat and a brown fedora hat that brought to Calvin's mind the flick _The Sting_.

They were sitting in the dining room at the dark oak table of the kind rarely eaten on except at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Of course, what with Cal's wife passed away and Danny not able to visit as much as he would like, not even then.

The grandfather clock situated in the living room adjacent to the dining room resonated out its sonorous music twelve times – lunch time, but Cal wasn't hungry. The papers he was looking at now were dredging up too many regrets. He always knew that everything he did would one day come back and bite him in the A--. This wasn't the first time he'd been served, but it was the first time where prison had become a harsh reality.

Then there was Danny. Having a dad in prison didn't exactly help a guy's career, but better that than being dead.

" Listen Joe," Cal said, " I've pretty much come to terms with the fact that jail is a possibility. If the best you can do is get my sentence reduced, I'm game. It's _where_ I end up that's the issue. You know that already. I go to the Federal pen, then Falonze is getting my hide on a silver platter. _You_ need to make sure I end up somewhere else."

Joe sat back in the chair and grinned. " Cal, I already told you, that's in the bag. Prison requests aren't a big deal, especially since you've got a reason to be picky."

Cal shook his head. " Don't get too confident, Joe. You ever hear of a guy named Fred Wellington?"

Joe squinted as he recollected. " Wellington. Rings a bell. Wasn't he tried for a bunch of murders?"

" He was rumored to be a hit man, but it was never proved to be fact. Truth was, he wasn't a hit man, just did business with one; money exchange. That was all Fred had to do, pay the guy who made the hits. You know how I know? Because he worked for an uncle of mine. He took the fall, but his prison request was denied, and the first day he arrived, he was dead within an hour. Better one man dead than the rest going down because he might slip and talk."

Joe stiffened in alarm. " What're you sayin'? That you don't trust your own family?"

Cal shrugged nonchalantly. " I do. But when it comes down to the whole bunch being at risk 'cause one man might talk to save his own skin, then no, I don't trust them, not during those times. And going to prison would bring about those times. I get put in with Falonze then there's a good chance that I might do some talking about certain members of my family just so I can last one more day. I honestly think that's that Stevenson guy's plan. That guy doesn't give a rat's A-- about me. Hell, he cares even less about what happens to my kid. Danny doesn't need this, you know? Worrying about me getting killed, worrying about himself getting killed. He's a good kid... No, a _great_ kid who made a lot of right choices. He shouldn't be paying for the bad choices that _I_ made."

Joe's features softened into a sympathetic expression. " You really are more worried about your kid than yourself."

Cal looked hard at Joe. " Wouldn't you be?"

" Yeah, that's why I get it. I've got four kids of my own, and seven grandkids. I'd go to hell and back for 'em."

Cal looked down at the table, absent-mindedly fiddling with a pen. " My... 'associates' – family included – don't care for Danny that much. I know they wouldn't ever do anything to him, it's mostly what they won't do to help him. But... Sometimes... I don't trust them in that aspect either. Sometimes I feel, if they get desperate enough, they might use Danny as a bargaining chip to keep me quiet. If that ever happened, Joe, I'd just let Falonze have me, I'm tellin' you now."

Joe did a slight wince. " Crap, Messer, you need to relax. Look, I know the boys just as well as you, and they wouldn't do that, not to you. Mickey, Rick – they've yet to have a bad thing to say about you, and I've hardly heard them mention your boy. If they do, it's neither good or bad, here or there, mostly just 'yeah, Cal has a kid; Danny' and that's it. They wouldn't do that to you, Messer, no way."

Cal gathered the pen into his clenched fist. " Could you swear that to me?" he asked. " Stack of Bibles, a relatives grave, your life... Your kids' lives? Could you swear it, absolutely, that Mick or the rest wouldn't do something to Danny to make sure I stayed quiet if the pressure was on?"

Joe didn't reply, and his face became a mask devoid of discernible emotion. Cal had him there.

" Thought so." Nothing about the Messers was a certainty, especially once one of them ended up behind bars. Cal suspected that much of Ricky's _aid_ in the matter was partly due to the possibility of Calvin opening up so as not to be killed by Falonze and his cronies.

" Sorry Cal," Joe said, and Cal knew by the lawyer's use of his first name that he was being sincere.

Cal sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb, then gestured vaguely toward the kitchen off to the right. " Hey, listen, you hungry? I can whip somethin' up real quick. Some sandwiches or somethin'..." Cal's appetite was still absent, but he needed a private moment to do some thinking.

Joe shrugged indifferently. " Why not."

Cal stood and headed into the kitchen with its red Spanish tiled floor and the stainless steel fridge he had gotten for his wife long before she had even fallen ill.

" Drink?" he called back.

" I took a cab, so... got a beer, some scotch?"

Cal opened the fridge. " Beer. Don't ask about the scotch. That's long gone," he replied with a derisive chuckle. He was reaching for the beers when his phone chirped. Muttering a curse, he yanked it from his pocket and flipped it open. Useful as they were, he still couldn't find acceptance for cell phones. It was like having someone around constantly trying to butt into his business. But as times changed, so did necessities. He recalled when having a cell phone was more of a novelty for people knee deep into being hi-tech.

" Messer here," he said.

" Calvin Messer?"

" Yeah?"

" Hey, listen, I'm a friend of Danny's and thought I should let you know that he hasn't been feelin' too great lately."

Calvin gripped the phone tight, clearing his throat to keep out the waver of trepidation. " How so?"

" Yeah, the guy's been pukin' all over the place. I don't know, must have been something he ate. Just thought I would let you know..."

" Who is this!"

" Bye."

" Hey!" Calvin barked, but the person on the other end was already gone.

Calvin pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it like a friend who had just stabbed him in the back.

" Hey," Joe called. " Everything all right, Messer? Thought I heard you snappin' at someone."

Cal blinked and jerked his head. " Uh, yeah, every thing's fine."

_Like hell it is._ There was no reason to ask himself what that call had been about. No time either. He pulled up Danny's number and placed the phone back to his ear, waiting with a hammering heart for an answer.

CSINY

Danny took a long, deep breath – as deep as he could go – then let it out slowly.

" Again," Dr. Nielson said, moving the stethoscope to the other side of Danny's back.

Danny glanced over his shoulder at the MD. The man was in his late forties, tall, lanky, with brown hair that was going a little gray along the sides. As far as doctors went, he was tolerable, mostly because he didn't beat around the bush and try to sugar coat everything. He told it like it was without sacrificing a good bed-side manner. It was as though the Doc had taken one look at Danny and knew that this wasn't a young man to verbally trifle with.

He was also Brooklyn born and raised, which might have explained it.

" You know," Danny said. " You can breath on those scopes all you want, doesn't make 'em any warmer."

Dr. Nielson smirked. " That's the whole point. Put cold metal to the skin, people suck in air with a lot more effort. Take another breath."

Danny did so, expanding his lungs until the ribs of his right side tried to cramp up again and the deteriorated muscles twitched spasmodically.

" Kind of hard, Doc," Danny said hoarsely, holding in the air. He then let it out with an audible rush.

Dr. Nielson replaced the bandages around Danny's chest with one hand. " It's going to be." Then lowered Danny's under-shirt back into place. " But like I said, give it time. You're still healing." He then moved around to the front, draping the stethoscope around his neck. " In fact, except for the problems that were already existent, you're as healthy as you can be under your circumstances. Your lungs are clean, your heart's good, no fever, no new infections. Even the bruising on your side is starting to show signs of clearing up. You're fine Danny. I think you're right, it must have been something you ate. I'd go through all your food, see what looks or smells bad. Or, hell, just throw it all out. I would. Listen, Danny, you may be on the mend but you still need to be careful. That first infection took a lot out of you and the second practically kicked your butt right up to death's door."

Danny nodded solemnly. _Like I forgot_. Being unable to breath and having every breath and cough send agony ripping through him wasn't something he would be able to forget, ever. It had made him feel like a kid, small and lost, much like when that cabby had been beating the snot out of him in the freezing rain.

" I am being careful doc," Danny said. " I can't control what my food's trying to do to me."

" Toss it out and you can. You're lucky, though. Sometimes food poisoning does worse to a guy. The fact that your stomach reacted so fast spared you more grief than you probably realize."

Danny almost laughed, but instead ran his hand through his hair, then down the back of his neck. " Doc, right now, me and grief seem to be on tight terms."

Nielson scribbled something down on his clipboard. " Life does have a way of kickin' you when you're down. But you know what? We all get back up again. This may sound a little cheesy, but it came from my mom so don't say anything; It doesn't rain forever."

Danny grinned, still massaging his stiff neck. " Actually, you can't really argue with that kind of logic."

Dr. Nielson finished scribbling, then looked up at Danny. " This may have been an early appointment, but I still need you to come in next week for X-rays. The stitches may need to stay in for a little longer."

Danny gingerly touched his side, feeling the rough stitches and uneven skin through his shirt and bandage. " I think I'm getting used to 'em."

The doctor handed Danny his shirt, and helped Danny maneuver into it, then place his sling back on. After a few more questions concerning Danny's arm and side, Dr. Nielson deemed the checkup complete and let Danny go. Danny headed from the room, slipping his good arm into the sleeve of his coat and draping the other side over his shoulder. He then began the arduous process of buttoning the coat up with one hand.

He was heading down the corridor with its odors of rubbing alcohol and disinfectants. A voice over the intercom echoed flatly, alerting some doctor to meet some patient in room number whatever. Danny was almost to the front desk when his phone chirped loudly, eliciting a narrow-eyed glare from the nurse at the station.

" I'm takin' it outside, relax," Danny murmured. Then chuckled. " If looks could freakin' kill..." He put the phone to his ear, stepping out into the moist, heavy cold of another overcast day. " Messer."

" Danny!" and urgent voice shouted.

Danny winced. " Dad?"

" Danny, you all right kid?"

Danny moved up the sidewalk and away from the doors in case the nurse was still glaring at him. " Yeah, dad, I'm fine. Just a little food poisoning." Then Danny stopped, his heart speeding up a few beats. " Wait, how did you know somethin' was wrong?"

" Crap, Danny, someone just called me sayin' they were a friend of yours and that you were pukin' all over the place."

Danny's heart picked up another couple of beats. " What?"

" Danny, listen to me. Throw your food out. Don't eat anything that's in your house, you hear me? Toss it all."

" Yeah." Danny's body felt suddenly numb all over. " Yeah, I was going to do that. The doc – told me to. Dad, did they do something? Is this the Quinns? Were they in my house, is that what this is about, them poisoning me!"

" Danny, calm down, kid. It's not that bad..."

Danny nearly dropped his phone when his hand began shaking. " Not that bad! Dad, they're freakin' _poisoning_ me!"

" Danny! Relax, listen to me. It's just a warning, that's all. They delivered their message, I got it loud and clear, so they'll back off now."

Danny's breath was coming fast and thick. " You sure about that? It's the freakin' Quinns dad!"

" They _will_ back off, Danny!" Calvin almost shouted. His frantic tone was a dead give away that he was not as certain as he wanted to be.

Danny's heart was beating hard enough to pulverize itself. But the worst thing he could do now was to lose control and give way to panic. It was hard, Danny was scared, because in terms of being in control of the situation he had no control. The Quinns were the ones calling all the shots.

The only weapon Danny had were his wits, and if he lost those then he was screwed.

Danny closed his eyes and took a deep, careful breath. " What do I do, dad?"

" Dump your food."

" I know that. I mean after."

Danny was met with silence, and it spooked Danny. " Dad?"

" I don't know, kid. Look, let me handle this, talk to some people. You just watch your back, Danny. The Quinns shouldn't try anything too bad with what's at stake, but... you need to be careful kid. You hear me?"

Danny swallowed back bile. " Yeah, dad. Careful."

" Listen, I gotta go, I'm talkin' to my lawyer. If anything happens, you call me, got it? Even if you just feel suspicious or uncomfortable about something."

" Sure."

" Danny, it's gonna be okay. This won't go on forever."

" I guess," was Danny's monotone reply.

They both hung up, since anything else they had to say would just be an empty back and forth mantra of fear and comfort.

Danny hurried home, taking the subway that wasn't so packed in the afternoon. Once he got to his place, he proceeded with the doctor's – and his father's – instructions, and began tossing stuff into a trash bag. Fruit, cheese, some lettuce that was starting to wilt, a tomato, ketchup, some left over Chinese takeout, juice, tomato paste, eggs, meat, mustard, mayonnaise... everything. Soon there was nothing left and his fridge was completely empty. He then went for the cupboards, his bread and boxed food. Even sealed stuff he couldn't trust since some poisons might leak through or had been smeared on the surface to get it all over Danny's hands. Anger made Danny's blood burn and run fast, heating his face and neck. He rammed stuff into the garbage bag, throwing it so that the stuff already tossed cracked or smashed. Every item he threw away added to his fury until he finally kicked the bag away and dropped into the front chair of the kitchen table.

_This is freakin' bull!_ He was seething, breathing hard, and shaking with the urge to throw something. Instead, he settled on a little vindication by trying to save what he could. He stood, dragging the bag to the sink, then began pulling out cans and washing them with soap in the sink. He did it with stuff wrapped in plastic as well that hadn't been opened, and jars that still had their lids sealed, but everything else was a lost cause.

After he finished washing the canned foods, he set them aside to transport to his closet and hide them with the rest of the junk cluttered in there. It felt like the pathetic action of a paranoid, but he was a paranoid with a reason to be paranoid.

Danny turned back to the garbage bag, and realization suddenly struck. If he was being poisoned, then proof of it was in that bag, about to be tossed. He removed the meat and mustard, putting both into a large Ziploc bag and setting them sealed and harmless on the counter. He would take them to the lab tomorrow, run a few simple tests to see what was on them, and hopefully not get caught in the process. Use of the lab normally involved a lot of signing in, singing out, and an inventory of what was used.

Danny shuddered. He might have to lie again. But he needed to know what the Quinns were doing to him. There could be evidence leading back to the Quinns; then his use of lab equipment would be justified and he wouldn't have to lie.

Danny sagged back into the chair, his anger draining him, trailing despair. If it were that simple, then the Quinns would have been caught a long time ago.

Still, he wouldn't throw the trash bag with its tainted food out, not yet.

CSINY

TBC – well, obviously;)


	9. Ch 8

A/N: I have recently become aware to a mistake I made in chapter one concerning a name. I just want to say this so that if anyone else notices they don't have to point it out. I'll fix it in my own due time.

And what the crap happened to Chad on the show? I liked him.

Ch. 8

Calvin was starting to forget what it was like to relax. He sat stiff-back in his easy chair facing a blank TV, all his focus directed at the cell phone gripped in his hands. He was expecting a call, but not from Danny. Danny had already told him about dumping his food, ordering in, and not getting sick because of it. He was dreading the possibility of another call from a stranger, telling him about some new ailment or problem plaguing Danny, but wasn't expecting that either.

He was waiting to hear from Stevenson. Cal thought for sure that the agent would have picked up his phone seeing that it was Messer on the other end. The fact that he was taking his sweet time meant that he was playing games, exacting control, making Calvin seem the desperate one. He was reminding Calvin that he was the one in charge, the one holding Calvin's entire life in his hands.

Had the agent been standing in front of Cal, Cal would have beaten him within an inch of his life. As it was, he was trying to shove down the overwhelming urge to curse the guy relentlessly the moment he finally called. It wasn't just Calvin's life the agent was screwing up, but Danny's as well.

The phone chirped out its annoying ring, and Cal answered before the second ring sounded. Not a good move since it only enforced Stevenson's attitude of having Cal under his thumb.

" Messer," Cal growled.

" Mr. Messer," Stevenson said, sounding insincerely surprised. " Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner, I've been a little busy. What can I do for you?"

Calvin gripped the phone tight, almost to the point of crushing it. " Stop screwin' with me, for starters. Just wanted to tell you I got a call the other day about my son. Didn't know the guy doin' the talking, but he _kindly_ alerted me to the fact that my kid had been puking his guts out for the better part of the day."

" Crap, is he okay?"

" Actually, funny thing about that. He went to the doctor and the doc said he was perfectly fine. Now I don't know about you but personally it all sounds a little funny to me. Danny throwing up – every time he eats is what he told me – and nothin's wrong with him. He's fine now, of course, after I told him to throw all his food out."

" Ooo-kay?"

Calvin closed his eyes, sucking in what was supposed to be a calming breath. " Don't do this to me, Stevenson. Someone was messing with Danny to get to me and you know it."

" No, Calvin, I don't know. It sounds to me like Danny ate something that didn't agree with him. You're acting paranoid, Calvin. You're looking for problems that aren't there."

Calvin slammed his fist on the arm of the chair. " Damn it, Stevenson, don't do this to me! They were poisoning my kid! You have to do something!"

" What can I do, Calvin, huh? You both refused witness protection. You refuse to give me what I need to put these guy's away you _claim_ are hurting your son. If this is anyone's fault, Mr. Messer, it's your own."

Calvin clenched his fist until it began to shake. To his increasing disgust, he knew that Stevenson was right, this was his fault. But he was surrounded by rocks and hard places. Turning in the tape could put the Quinns away, but that wouldn't keep them from killing Danny out of revenge.

" You need to think reasonably, Mr. Messer. Do you really think your resignation on going to jail will save your son grief? As long as your alive, these people will continue to hound Danny in order to make sure you never turn on them. This will not end with you being put away. It will keep going, and going, and going until it's the Quinns that are finally put away. Giving us what you have can stop this whole ordeal and save your son some more pain."

Calvin had to fight to keep from throwing the phone against the wall. " Why the hell did I even call you, Stevenson? Huh? You don't freakin' get it. They'll kill my son if I give into you, and sending him to some strange place with a strange name isn't going to prevent that. If you know the Quinns so well then you should know what they're capable of. It's why you've never been able to convict them. But you could help my son. Get him some protection, keep these guy's from using him against me, let the people he works for know what's going on. Danny's freakin' law enforcement and law enforcement could do something for him if you'd just fill them in. Maybe – maybe you could even catch the guy's doin' this crap to him in the act..." it was a long shot, but it was all Calvin could think of.

Stevenson was silent for a moment, then Calvin heard him sigh. " Sorry, Cal, but I can't. This case is under wraps. Closed to anyone outside the bureau. Like I said, my hands are tied. But if you testify, give us what you know..."

Calvin cut the connection. He didn't want to hear it, couldn't bare to hear it. He had hoped, by alerting Stevenson to what had happened with Danny, that he might have a change of heart and do something about it. But Calvin had been kidding himself. He had known better, but gave into desperation all the same. If poisoning Danny's food was how this whole mess was starting off, then that meant it was going to get worse from here on in. Danny was going to suffer.

Stevenson may have been a bust, but Calvin still had to try. It was doing something, even if it was pointless because Stevenson was too sadistic and short sighted to care about who got hurt in the end. The man was consumed by his own desperation, yet unlike Calvin he had nothing to lose. He could take his time because _he_ wasn't going anywhere, and though he would rather get the Quinns sooner, he still had later to fall back on.

Calvin no longer had that luxury. Stevenson had taken it away from him.

Calvin sagged into his chair, letting the phone drop on the side table with a clatter.

_Maybe this was a one time thing_, but he was probably kidding himself again. What was worse, Stevenson's words were starting to sink in. The agent was probably right. Even behind bars, the Quinns would continue their torment to ensure Calvin stayed quiet.

Unless Calvin ended up in prison with a few choice enemies. That would end things pretty quick.

Calvin felt like puking. He had three choices; watch Danny suffer, watch Danny die, or die himself. Death seemed to have all the odds in its favor, but since nothing was a certainty, and Calvin still had a few measly cards of his own he could play, he wasn't giving up on hope yet. There had to be _something._

CSINY

Danny dumped the remainder of his breakfast into a wastebasket as he walked toward the building. The breakfast burrito had been too much for his sensitive digestion, even though it had been small, and he was surprised he had managed downing half of it. He longed for cold cereal, even on a cold day, not to mention a cup of coffee.

Danny hurried inside, then into the elevator before anyone could stop him to talk or ask any questions. He moved fast about dumping his stuff off in his locker, then heading to the lab with the Ziplock bag of meat and mustard. He scanned the lab until his sights found Chad apparently finishing up whatever he had been doing, jotting something in a file then closing it. Danny hurried up to him before the young lab tech even got up.

" Hey Chad," he called. Chad swiveled around on his stool and grinned, but didn't get a chance to even say hi when Danny tossed the bag to him. Chad caught it with both hands, looking at it quizzically.

" Got a favor," Danny said. " You got the time?"

Chad's casual grin return. " For you – well, actually, for just about anyone – sure. What'd you need?"

Danny pointed at the bag. " That food checked. See if it's been laced with anything."

" Anything in particular?"

" Whatever might cause a guy to puke a lot."

Chad jerked his head in a nod. " No problem. When do you need it?"

" Whenever. No rush. When you find somethin' tell me. Directly."

" Got it."

Danny headed from the lab and took notice that his heart was beating a little faster than normal. Using lab equipment, techs, and time shouldn't have seemed like a big deal, but CSIs had gotten into trouble for less, especially ones already in hot water for other reasons. But Danny's real worry stemmed on Mac's discovery of what Danny was doing, and the questions that would follow.

Danny wasn't going to lie if – or when – things came down to that.

Danny made his way to Mac's office, and was only a few feet away when Stella came out, looking at Danny in surprise.

" Hey you," she said, slowing, then stopping, folding her arms in front of her chest. " Feeling better?"

Danny reluctantly stopped as well. " Mac tell you?"

Stella smirked. " Rumor told me." Then her smile faded. " Really, you all right? Wasn't anything serious was it?"

_What else would you call being poisoned?_ " Naw. Went to the doctor's, he didn't find a thing, so no, I wouldn't call it serious. Like I told Mac and everyone, it was something I ate. Bad food. I fixed the problem so I'm good now."

Stella nodded, pursing her lips. " Good, Great, actually."

They both stood, facing eachother in another bout of uncomfortable silence. Danny still felt like a jack A-- for brushing Stella aside by lying to her, but hoped she didn't ask – once again – if he was fine in that knowing way of hers.

" Well, glad to see you're okay, but I gotta run."

Danny nodded. " Yeah, sure."

Again, another moment of silence, then Stella finally headed off. Danny watched her go, feeling troubled. Each time they came across eachother, Stella's treatment of him was more and more like she was walking on eggshells. She had something to say, Danny knew, just never the right time to say it. Was she still worried? Obviously. It didn't take a genius to see that. But rather than feeling flattered or touched, Danny felt only guilt. Encountering Stella was becoming uncomfortable, and that wasn't right.

Danny was considering going to talk to her himself when he saw Mac's door open out of the corner of his eye. He snapped his head around to see Mac standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

" Better?"

" A lot better, actually. I was right, just bad food."

Mac stared long and hard at Danny, and Danny's heart rate increased as the seconds ticked by under his boss's deep scrutiny.

" Consider this as strike one, Danny. Strike two if something worse comes along. Do I make myself clear?"

Danny tensed, then nodded. " Yeah, loud and clear, Mac."

" Good." Then Mac's persona shifted, not in a visible way but more in a way that could be felt, as though an unseen cloud of tension had surrounded them, and had now dissipated. Danny relaxed in turn.

" So, what did I miss?" he asked when it felt safe to.

" Nothing much. Lindsay's been looking into seafood, and today she and Stella are heading out to the scene to see if there are any restaurants or grocery stores nearby."

Danny grinned. " I haven't even been to the place and I can tell you there are. Still no leads on the people front?"

Mac shook his head, then gestured for Danny to come into the office. Danny followed, and on entering was handed a rather thick file.

" What's this?" he asked, flipping it open with one side resting on his bound arm.

" Remember how we talked about this being possibly mob related? I decided to do a little digging into that area, just to see what popped up. It seems Gerrard's style of death is popular. The bullet through the forehead and moving the body to another location, I mean. And the list of possible suspects isn't encouraging either. Too many to even name."

Danny looked up at Mac. " What're you sayin'?"

" That we're hitting a lot of dead ends. Who ever killed Gerrard knew how to cover their tracks, not just by moving the body but breaking into the guy's home and taking anything of evidence interest, like his computer. Our case may end up in that file you're holding."

Danny looked back at the file, flipping through pages, and almost dropped those pages when an all too familiar named jumped out at him.

Al Quinn. However, the case his name was mentioned on had been before Danny was even born, back when Al was in his early twenties. He flipped passed the page, reigning in his surprise before Mac could notice. Of course the Quinn name would be mentioned a few time. Executions of any kind always had them on the list of people to look into.

When Danny finished, he closed the file and handed it back to Mac. " So, anything you need me to do?"

" I'm planning on going over phone records and bank statements again."

" Again?"

" Not much to find the first time, but I'm willing to go back. For a guy who conducted a lot of business with a lot of people, he either did it in person or there are gaps in his records. Bank statements are the same. He was always making large deposits, but in cash only."

" What are you hoping to find?"

" At this point, anything."

CSINY

Mac had given Danny the phone records to look at while he went over the bank records. They had the info spread out on a table to see them in full and look them over in every possible perspective. Mac had said that there was little to find, and he was right. If calls had been made to the man's home phone, they had been made over pay phones. The man had a cell phone since he had cell phone bills, but like his computer, it couldn't be found.

Gerrard's murderers were smart.

Danny's own phone rang, and he snatched it from his pocket without taking his eyes from the sheets spread on the table.

" Messer."

" Danny, it's Chad. I've got the results for your food."

Danny glanced up at Mac who was looking at him without expression.

" I need to take this," Danny said quickly, then headed out of the room before Mac had a chance to read whatever expression decided to pop up on Danny's own features.

" Okay, Chad, give me the news, bad or good, I don't care."

" Well, that depends on what you were looking for. The food _was_ laced with something, a chemical something. Ipecac

Danny's spine stiffened. " That stuff that makes you vomit?"

" Yep. Normally utilized for expunging unwanted ingestions. But, apparently, in the case of your tainted food, to make someone's life miserable. The food itself – except for the Ipecac – is clean. No bacteria or other chemicals to be found."

Danny swallowed against his tightening throat. " Ipecac, okay, thanks Chad, I owe you."

" This is my job, why would you owe me?"

Danny shook his head. " Never mind. Thanks, man." He lowered the phone, clenching it tight. So he was being poisoned, but it seemed more like a prank than a threat. A way to annoy him rather than scare him. But he was scared.

_They'd broken into my place, laced my food._ That's what scared him. Danny's apartment complex wasn't exactly a social center. The people there generally minded their own business, including himself, which was why he didn't know a single person in the place. The Quinns knew how to break and enter without seeming like they were breaking and entering. Danny knew since he had caught Jack doing it on more than one occasion.

Cold crept like spiders up Danny's backbone and through his nerves. That was the real message being sent; not only _what_ they were capable of doing to Danny, but also that they could do it at any time and anywhere.

Danny felt rooted to the floor, unable to move. His mind was racing through a list of what he needed to do when he got home. Check for prints, for lock tampering, shoe impressions on the carpeting if there were any. He should have already done these actions that were routine for a CSI, but he hadn't even thought about them except for bringing the food to the lab. He hadn't thought about anything except that he was being poisoned, and he wanted to strangle himself for that.

He was slipping up. Giving into panic.

" Danny?"

Danny snapped his head around to see Mac's own head sticking out of the door.

" You okay?" Mac asked.

Danny shoved his phone back into his pocket. " Yeah. Just personal stuff. Nothing big."

Again came the piercing scrutiny that actually had Danny nervously believing Mac could read minds.

" You sure?"

" Yeah. I got it taken care of." He then moved back into the room with Mac stepping aside to let him through. Danny resumed his own scrutiny of the info, but found that only seventy percent of his concentration was focused on it. Not a good sign. It also didn't help that he could feel Mac's gaze on him, watching him as though observing from behind a two-way mirror.

" I'd love to take another crack at those clothes," Danny said, changing the subject despite there being no subject to change to begin with. " Lindsay said she had found some fish oil and crap on 'em." He flicked his eyes up toward Mac, who was still observing. " I – I mean me and Hawkes - we worked that case where the guy was stabbed by a sword fish. I... I think maybe the type of fish this guy was rolling in could be, you know, discovered... I think there were some fish scales on the clothes."

Mac inclined his head. " Maybe." Then gestured toward Danny's sling. " After Lindsay gets back so that she can help."

Danny smiled, more out of relief than thanks, hoping Mac couldn't tell the difference. " Thanks Mac."

Mac turned his eyes back to the bank statements, adding to Danny's relief.

_Now I'm nervous around my own boss. _Of course, he had yet to feel totally relaxed around Mac, especially after the subway shooting fiasco. But what he was feeling now was far worse, almost verging on fear.

Mac knew something was up. That's why he kept watching.

_You're losing it Messer._ He shuddered, and looked up, hoping Mac hadn't noticed. Mac was still looking down.

_Losing it._

CSINY

A/N: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, and lack of anything unforetold happening to Danny. Things are about to get exciting, though, so hang on!


	10. Ch 9

A/N: Okay people, here's what you've all been waiting for. Danny thrashing! Hoorah!

A little sound advice when reading any story: Use every ounce of imagination you got.

Ch. 9

So much for best laid plans.

Danny's head was pounding in rhythm to his heart, sharper when he yanked out his bag and caused it to bang on the side of the locker. He winced when the noise drilled into his skull and the pain created small flashes of light flecking his vision.

The headache was his own fault. His lunch had consisted of a bag of chips from the vending machine and a soda. He would have gone out and bought something, but didn't want to chance running into Jack again. Bringing food from home was, of course, still not an option. So, allied with tension born of fretting over Mac finding out about Danny's personal testing of food, the result was a tight stress headache that was making his gut churn.

Danny slipped the strap of his bag over his pain-free shoulder. Before heading from the locker room, he stood still and massaged the aching muscles of his brow that were trying to force his eyelids to shut. The slight cramp in his neck wasn't helping matters much, either. The moment Lindsay had arrived back from the scene with a list of stores and restaurants, Danny had practically dragged her by the arm to the lab to get started on giving name to the small flakes of scales found on Gerrard's clothes. The set back was, there was more than one type of scale and fish skin to be found. Danny's neck had been bent for the better part of the day over a microscope. Now it cracked every time he moved it.

What made it worse was the fact that they had only identified one scale out of ten – belonging to pink sea-bass.

Danny would have kept going, but his hours at work were up, plus his arm had started throbbing again. Lindsay had taken notice of him holding his shoulder and grimacing on more than one occasion until she had finally chased him out, promising to finish categorizing the scales.

Danny finally left the locker room and headed to the elevator. He had yet to run into Stella, and except for that morning hadn't seen her all day. He still needed to talk to her, though he had no idea what about. Tell her to stop feeling so disturbed?

_A car just hit me, that's all. Happens to people all the time, you know that._ Of course she knew, they all knew, since they were usually the ones standing over the aftermath, sifting through what was left to determine what had happened.

Cold crawled up Danny's spine, and he shifted with discomfort. It wasn't the first time the thought _that could have been me they were standing over _or _that could have been me on Hammerback's table_ ghosted through his mind. It wasn't as unsettling now that he was back on his feet and on the mend. It had scared the hell out of him while he had been lying in the hospital bed, hacking up a lung.

Danny pushed the thoughts back into the gutter where they belonged. He promised himself a little talk with Stella the moment he found her, but not today. Aches, hunger, and weariness made bad companions to conversation, and Danny needed to be able to talk with a clear head.

Danny stepped outside into the arctic twilight, mentally mapping a route home that would take him past some food joint he liked. He ended up going the way of a sandwich place he loved, and picked up a ham and salami, soda, and some chips. After that, it was another less than pleasant ride on the subway, with his aching shoulder being bumped and his good shoulder starting to ache from carrying the bag. Once off the train, he jerked his shoulder to adjust the bag, but only made the discomfort worse.

By the time he turned onto his street, his back was bent from all the aches, and he vaguely wondered if what he felt now was akin to having arthritis. Then he stopped, and tilted his head back, whispering a curse of frustration.

He forgot to bring his kit home. That definitely wasn't a good sign. Though he was doubtful he would be called into a scene any time soon, it was supposed to be habitual to bring it home and have it on hand. Plus he had needed it to check his own place.

His concentration was really starting to shirk on him, and Mac would chew him out if he discovered it.

Danny dropped his head, letting it pull his neck and stretch the muscles. Then he looked up and continued on.

Something pressed into Danny's back between the shoulders.

" Whoa, hold up there, pal," someone with a slight Brooklyn accent demanded. Danny stopped, and every muscle went taunt, emphasizing the throb in his side.

" Don't move," the man said again. " Drop the bags and raise your hands."

Danny, heart pounding fast, did so.

" I said both," the man growled.

" My other arm's busted," Danny irritably replied. He couldn't believe what was happening, and yet at the same time wasn't even remotely surprised.

_Must be the year of 'let's give Danny hell.' I need to learn when not to get out of bed._

" Really?" the guy asked, pressing whatever it was he was holding harder into Danny until it felt like it was grating his backbone. Then a heavy, gloved hand landed on his bad shoulder and squeezed. Pain ripped through Danny, making him gasp, and when he tried to pull away only made it worse.

" Too bad." The man then dropped whatever he was holding to wrap his arm around Danny's throat as he continued to clutch Danny's shoulder. " This is going to hurt like an SOB, then."

Another figure sauntered out from behind Danny, but in the fading light and with the new-comer buried in a thick coat, scarf, and baseball cap Danny couldn't make out the guy's face. Not even his eyes.

" What the hell are you doin'!" Danny snapped. The new guy had his fist clenched as he slowly approached Danny. Apparently, this wasn't going to be a typical hit, grab, and run mugging.

The guy raised his fist to smash it in Danny's face. Danny reacted by grabbing the arm around his neck, then pushing back into the guy holding him to bring up his legs and kick the guy in front in both the groin and gut. The guy stumbled back with a cry while Danny and the man restraining him fell back, with Danny bringing his elbow down simultaneously into the guy's chest. Danny scrambled to his feet and plowed into the second assailant before he could even fully straighten, ramming the guy into the wall of a building. But he was yanked back by the first attacker, and the second took the opportunity to slug Danny right in the face, sending his glasses skittering across the sidewalk. Danny stumbled, and tried to right himself only to get another blow to the face, this one driving him to his hand and knees.

" Stupid little son of a..." and then Danny received a hard kick to his ribs – on the right side. Danny fell onto his left, screaming and curling, holding his side that felt as though it had shattered into a thousand fragments.

" What the hell did you do!" The first guy cried. " You were supposed to go for the face. The face!" Danny heard, through the throbbing roar of blood in his ears and the fog seeping into his brain, the pounding of feet as the two men ran. Danny laid where he was, gritting his teeth and gasping. His hand clenched and unclenched, and his heart beat fast enough to explode. Then his lungs screamed for air and he let out a rasping breath. When he tried to suck in air, his ribs cramped as though splitting and he gasped out again.

Then after several agonizingly long minutes, the excruciating pain drained away, little by little, until he could breathe. He rolled onto his back, still clutching his side, and allowed himself a moment more to suck in some air.

" A-- holes," he groaned hoarsely, coughing.

" Hey, pal, you okay?"

Danny tilted his head back, his skull digging into the concrete, to see a heavy-set man of about forty wearing a plaid coat, green scarf, and green cap staring down at him in utter shock. Danny closed his eyes and let out a slow breath.

" Ask me that two months ago, I would have said yes."

The man just wrinkled his brow, and Danny sighed.

" I'll live."

" Need help?"

" Gladly.

The man stepped to the side and held out his hand. Danny took it, and with the man's help was pulled back onto his feet. He stumbled, doubling over, and the man held out both hands in case Danny started to fall. Danny shook his head.

" I'm good. I got it."

The man then picked up both of Danny's bags and handed them to him. " What happened?"

Danny slung his satchel over his shoulder, then took the bag of food. " Attempted mugging."

" Attempted? Did you call the cops?"

_I am a cop... sort of._ But Danny wasn't going to say that. Nothing would dash a man's faith in the police force faster than hearing about how a cop just got mugged.

Danny spat a glob of blood onto the ground. " No point. They didn't take anything, just took off."

The man just looked at Danny as though he had grown a second head. " Um, you sure?"

Danny's side twinged and he grimaced. " Yeah, positive."

" What – what about an ambulance or something?" The guy then pointed at Danny's side. " No offense pal, but you look like you need a doctor."

Danny looked down at his own hand pressed gently against his ribs. " That? It was like that before I got mugged. Thanks all the same, man." Danny then continued on before the man got it in his head to call the cops or an ambulance himself. Danny paused momentarily to crouch and grab his glasses despite the agony of doing so.

Once safely inside his own place, Danny dumped his bag by the door and his food on the table. He made his way straight to the bathroom to assess the damage. A bruise was already forming on his eye, his nose was bleeding, and so was his lip. He then shrugged off his coat, pulled up his shirt, and undid the bandages. Nothing looked different, the stitches were still in place, but by tomorrow the massive bruising would have returned full force and his side would be too tender to even touch.

Danny set the bandages aside to replace later after he put some ice to his side. He washed his face of the blood, then headed back into the kitchen for the ice. He had his hand on the handle of the freezer when a single note taped to the fridge caught his eye. It read simply " ouch."

Danny's heart plunged into his stomach. He pulled the note off the fridge, staring at it in wide-eyed horror. His eyelids slid closed, and he leaned forward with his forehead resting on the cool surface of the freezer. He knew what he needed to do. He just didn't have the means to do it.

_Because I'm a freakin' moron who forgot his freakin' kit at the freakin' lab. Freakin' idiot._

Danny wiped his nose, which had started bleeding again.

CSINY

The subway was too crowded to sit. Standing was hell. Even with a pain pill, Danny's side continued to ache and had been aching through the night, costing him most of his sleep. But it wasn't as though he'd never lacked sleep before. Still, considering that he was trying to heal, and with what took place the other night, his mind felt as though he hadn't slept for two days straight.

He didn't know how he was going to explain the bruising to Mac. He would tell the truth, of course, but the fact that he hadn't called the cops afterwards or gone to the doctor was going to make him out as being – basically – witless. Yes, he probably should have called, yet seeing as how nothing was taken and the attack was more like a street-wise brawl (something Danny wasn't a stranger to) there just hadn't been a reason to.

The note had backed up Danny's reasoning. Another message to get across, and they were happening fast. But wasn't a beating going too far? Usually a beating was a last resort thing, even if it wasn't severe. Whatever was on that tape that his dad possessed was probably more serious than even Calvin realized.

A teenage boy who looked to be around thirteen or so was staring at Danny intently. Danny looked at him in return.

" What?" he asked as calmly as possible without reverting to the cliché, New York response of 'what're you lookin' at.'

" You a boxer or something?" the kid asked. Danny narrowed his eyes.

" I'm a cop."

The kid averted his gaze to the grimy floor. " Oh."

Danny looked away, shaking his head, only to become uncomfortably aware of the many glances flicking his way. He knew that his bruises were standing out against his pale face like ink on white paper, but the way some people were peering at him it was as though they'd never seen bruises before.

Or maybe they just weren't used to the kind of bruises patching Danny's face. The guy who had decked him had a punch like a sledge hammer, and Danny was amazed that his face didn't hurt worse. Although his eye wouldn't open quite wide enough. It was also a shocker that his glasses were still in one piece.

Danny tried not to notice the people watching him. He looked every which way; to the floor, the ceiling, out the windows. So it startled him when he saw an arm reaching out, holding up a picture phone in Danny's general direction.

" That's freakin' it," he mumbled, and when the train next stopped he got off. At least in a moving crowd people didn't have time to stare, or take pictures.

_What the hell is their problem?_ Was he so used to bruises that he was unable to realize how bad he looked? Or was it that people had automatically guessed him a mugging victim and gawked because they had never seen one before?

_Freaks._

The walk to work was longer because of his sudden departure from the subway, so by the time he arrived he was out of breath and aching even more. Each inhalation brought a sharp stab of pain that had him doubling over once he was through the doors. The warm air of inside relieved his burning lungs of cold, but the massive stitch in his side refused to let up. It was like having a knife in his side that had become lodged between the ribs.

After a few moments of steady breathing, he was able to and stand upright if not totally straight, but he was becoming used to that. The moment he righted himself, however, he turned his face away. Flack was coming toward him.

Danny started moving as though in a hurry, too much of a hurry to notice anyone around him. Flack, on the other hand, was very aware of his surroundings and those in it.

" Hey Danny," Flack called.

" Damn it!" Danny hissed, but kept going as though he hadn't heard a thing. Flack turned on his heels to walk along side the slightly shorter CSI.

Danny kept his face to the floor and turned partially to the side.

" Hey, Danny, I'm talkin' to you. Anyone home in there? Hello, earth to Danny Messer..."

Both stepped onto the nearest open elevator. " What, Don?" Danny said more petulantly than he intended. He really wasn't up for casual conversation, or where it would lead once Flack saw his face.

_Another day I should have stayed in bed._

" Jeez, Danny, sorry. Just wanted to ask how you were doin'. You don't have to take my freakin' head off."

Danny took a quick breath, then coughed. Apparently, his lungs hadn't quite recuperated from the searing cold. " Sorry."

" You all right, pal?"

" Fantastic," he muttered.

" Then why are you lookin' at the floor?"

" It's a nice floor."

" Come on, Danny. I've never seen you _not_ look at someone while you're talking to them. Hell, I've seen you stare down guys twice your size and three times your weight – and win. What, you ignoring me or somethin'? Did I do somethin' wrong, or are you in some kind of pain you don't want anyone to know about?"

Danny's nerves burned with annoyance. " What're you my mom? I can't look at the floor if I want to? Maybe my neck hurts and it feels better when I'm lookin' down. Ever think of that?"

" I was thinkin' of something else." Suddenly, Flack grabbed Danny's bag from off his shoulder, and Danny reflexively looked up and around to grab it back.

" Hey!" he snapped, and too late realized his folly as he made eye contact with the taller man. " That was low, man."

Flack didn't appear to hear as he stared in alarm at Danny's face. " What the hell happened to you?"

Danny grabbed his bag back from Don. " I was mugged, all right? Two guys jumped me, got in a few punches, then ran off."

" Did you call the cops?"

Danny slung his bag back onto his shoulder. " No reason to. They didn't take anything. No big deal."

" Danny, the bad food thing was no big deal. Two guys attacking you _is_ a big deal. What did they look like?"

Danny shrugged. " Good question. They were pretty wrapped up in coats and crap. The guy who hit me was big, around your height. Didn't get a good look at the other guy. They decked me a few times, I got them back a little, then they ran off." It was then that he realized that he was going to have to repeat this story to everyone he ran into. Shaking his head, he turned away disgusted. " I knew I shouldn't have come in this morning."

" Danny, come on, man, you were attacked. I'm mean you're already hurt. They could have done some major damage, reopened some wounds or somethin'."

Danny's jaw twitched. " They didn't, I checked. I'm good, Flack, honest. Just a little sore."

" Sore my A--," Flack mumbled, turning to look up at the blinking numbers. " You did say you got in a few yourself, right?"

Danny couldn't help a grin. " Two-point shot. I think the guy who gave me the shiner's gonna be talkin' like he just hit puberty for a while."

Flack patted him lightly on the shoulder twice. " That's my man. Mac's gonna be all over you for it, though."

Danny shrugged. " Yeah. But, hey, it's not like I came down with anything."

" Just a fat head. Not callin' the cops? Crap, I'm a cop and even I would call the cops if that happened. You should've called me."

The elevator doors opened and both men stepped out.

" No reason to, I told you that." Then Danny's phone rang and he pulled it out. " Messer, here."

" Danny? You okay kid?"

Danny stopped, as did Flack. Danny waved for him to keep going. " Personal call, it might take a while."

Flack nodded. " Make it quick before Mac finds you and makes you hang up to answer a few questions."

Danny just glared at Flack as the detective strolled away, smirking. Danny then turned all his attention to the call.

" Yeah dad, I'm fine. Someone call you again?"

" Yeah, well, kind of. All I got was this picture – of you... what the hell happened to your face?"

_Picture?_ Picture phone. Danny recalled someone using one on the subway. He squeezed his eyes shut, stemming the shock of sudden realization.

" I was – I was mugged, last night."

" What!"

" Dad, calm down, it was nothing. They just... They just got me in the face..." no reason to tell about the kick to his broken ribs, which were probably broken again. " They didn't take anything, and I'm pretty sure I gave 'em a few bruises in return. I'm good."

" Oh, Danny..." Calvin's voice cracked. His old man was losing control, and it frightened Danny. He glanced around, checking to make sure no one was within listening range to over hear anything. The next he spoke, it was in low tones.

" Hey, dad, listen to me. That... um... thing you got. That important thing. Why not just hand it over? I know what you told me, but if these people are stepping up to poundings then it's gotta be serious, serious enough to put them all away for good. I mean, come on dad, I can take care of myself, I can handle these guys... You shouldn't have to go to jail and I shouldn't have to be lookin' over my shoulder every ten freakin' minutes." Danny began pacing. " I think they're bluffing us, that's why they're hittin' so hard and fast. They're scared. Just hand this thing over and testify..."

" Danny, don't you start too."

" Start what, dad? What're you talking about?"

" Nothing, Danny, never mind. Just listen to me. I can't do it. I know you can handle yourself, but I'm not going to risk it. It's my decision, I made it, so end of story."

Something about Calvin's tone – subdued, tired – made Danny nervous. " Something wrong dad?"

Calvin chuckled humorlessly. " Danny, kind of a rhetorical question, don't you think?"

Danny rolled his eyes, frustration making his blood run fast. " What the hell am I supposed to do, dad? Huh? These creeps are poppin' out of nowhere, and I don't even know if it's them or not until after the fact."

" I don't know, Danny, I'm sorry. The problem is I don't even know what they're really up to. Like you said, they're hittin' hard and fast. I... I have no idea what to do."

" This keeps up I'm telling someone. I'll have to. It'll only get worse."

" Danny..."

Danny was about to interrupt when on turning he spotted Mac coming toward him.

" Dad, I gotta go. My boss is here." And before Calvin could respond, Danny put his phone away.

Mac stopped before Danny, and his eyes went immediately to the bruises. " Danny?"

" Attempted mugging. Long story. Listen, has Lindsay said whether she figured out the fish deal?"

Mac narrowed his eyes, and Danny's muscles tensed. Then Mac shook his head.

" Not yet. Tell me about this mugging?"

" Nothing big..." Yet Danny didn't mind talking about it. It gave him something to focus on, though did nothing to slow his jack-hammering heart.

CSINY

A/N: Ho-hum. Let me see how long I can drag this out. No, not really, I already know where it's going. And why doesn't Danny just tell Mac the truth? Why, oh why? You already know his reasons, but the breaking point is near. It can't stay a secret forever. As for when, that is for me to know and you to go mad waiting to find out. Mwhahahahahahahaha! So stop asking me. Ahhh, who am I to boss, go ahead and ask. You'll get not answer from me though! (please reread evil laughter above.)


	11. Ch 10

A/N: And the Danny abuse continues...

Ch. 10

Calvin was setting one toe into a pit of snakes by being at the federal courthouse, but his options were wearing thin. For all he knew, he was fueling the fire of motive for the Quinns to torment Danny. If just one of them spotted Calvin in the throes of what he was about to do, Calvin would soon be hearing from them on some new _difficulty_ Danny was going through.

But he was taking the risk for Danny's sake.

He leaned with his shoulder to the wall between the elevators, and watched the glass front entrance for the dark haired prosecutor Cathy Rodriguez. Sure enough, the young Hispanic woman was hurrying up the stairs while checking her watch, her other hand occupied carrying a leather brief case. On entering she went straight for the elevators, then slowed when her gaze became glued to Calvin.

" Mr. Messer?" she asked, alarmed, stopping four feet from the older man. Calvin pushed off of the wall and gave her a quick nod.

" Miss Rodriguez. We need to talk."

Cathy blinked several times. The elevator on Calvin's right slid open with a group of five pouring out and spreading like spilled water.

" Um... I suppose. Follow me." She sounded tense, as though balancing between being angry and being nervous.

She stepped inside the open elevator and Calvin followed. Once inside, she hit the 'close doors' button, and once sealed she rounded on Calvin.

" Mr. Messer, I have to warn you, this is highly unorthodox, not to mention dangerous for the case. If you have decided on agreeing to testify then you need to make a formal statement with the attorney of the opposing party present..."

Calvin raised his hand patiently, patting the air for Cathy to stop. " Miss Rodriguez, I didn't change my mind."

Cathy stared at him coolly. " Then we shouldn't be talking. If anyone were to see us, anyone involved in this matter, they might jump to the conclusion that information was being exchanged. Mr. Messer, this is a very dangerous game you're playing..."

Calvin chuckled quietly. " No offense, Miss Rodriguez, but you seem to be the one jumping to conclusions. I'm not hear to give... I'm here to ask, and not for any dirt on our mutual 'friends'. And keep in mind I use that term loosely." Calvin sobered. " I need to know why this case is sealed tight until the hearing. Why isn't every law enforcement agency in on what's going down?"

" They are."

Calvin shook his head. " No, only certain people are, people with important evidence or knowledge that'll help the case. I need to know why everything's so freakin' hush-hush."

" I'm surprised you don't know the answer already, Mr. Messer..."

" I do. Connections. The Quinns have connections. People on the inside, people they bribed, people they have on a tight leash. Too many people know what's going on, then info starts to leak, important info that they have time to counteract once they become aware of it. You're trying to keep the Quinns in the dark. What I'm asking is; why can't people who _can_ be trusted be allowed in the loop?"

Cathy furrowed her brow and narrowed her eyes. " Mr. Messer, I don't understand what you're asking me. What is it you want? What're you looking for?"

Calvin averted his gaze to the floor and he tried to fathom the right way to put what needed to be said. His conclusion; no point beating around the bush. He looked back at Cathy.

" Do you know the reason why I won't come forward?"

Cathy nodded, brow still lined. " Threats were made against you and your family. Protection was offered, but you denied it."

" Witness protection, which the Quinns no how to surpass because of those same 'connections' you just talked about. That's what happens when you're part of a rich and powerful family. You get everything you want, and what you don't get you take. Well, the Quinns take a lot, and they damn the risks because they know how to get away with what they do. They're heartless bastards, Miss Rodriguez. I know, I've worked with them or you wouldn't be asking me to rat them out."

The elevator rolled to a stop, and the doors slid open into a brown carpeted hallway lined by dark oak doors with brass nameplates. Cathy led the way down the right hand corridor to the fourth door on the left. Once inside, she gestured for Calvin to sit in one of the two padded chairs before her desk. Behind her, the blinds were open to a horizon-stretched panorama of New York under an overcast morning sky. Calvin continued as Cathy sat and placed her brief case on the floor.

" They don't care who they hurt, or who gets hurt in the process. And they're not beyond sacrificing one of their own. Hell, I think half the time when a Quinn dies its because another Quinn killed him."

Cathy leaned forward with her hands folded on her desk. " I'm not naïve to what the Quinns are capable of. My predecessor Max Durant was the one who had started gathering intel on the Quinns to build up a case, intel that took years to accumulate. I picked up where Durant left off, continued gathering. I probably know the Quinns just as well as you."

Calvin nodded. " You're right. Sorry."

Cathy shook her head. " Don't be. I know you're in a bad situation, but if you would just..."

" No," Calvin nearly snapped. " No, I don't want to hear it. Don't tell me to just hand over what I got and testify, because it isn't as simple as it sounds." Now he was the one to lean forward. " Listen, Miss Rodriguez, I'm not here to save my own hide. I'm here for my kid. Danny Messer. He's a CSI, a cop, and has probably helped dig up half the evidence that helped you put away a few dirt-bags over the years. I'd be willing to hand over whatever I got if I was _assured_ that nothing would happen to my kid as a result. Now, I'm not certain what difference it would make, but if my son was granted the clemency to talk about the case to the people he works with, they might be able to help him out. Cops look after their own, right? That's all I'm asking. Let my kid talk to someone, tell someone who could help him. It's not like he's letting the entire NYPD know about it, just the right people. Consider it a deal. You let my son help himself how he sees or feel fit, and I hand over what I got."

Cathy's eyes went round, and she slowly straightened. " You're serious?"

" _Dead_ serious. Come on, Miss Rodriguez, I was willing to go to jail if it meant keeping the Quinns off Danny's back. The problem is, it might not. I still don't think this information I have's going to make a difference, not with these people, and there's people I know who'll be pissed about what I did. But, hey, I'm already in the fire. I just want to make sure my son gets out of this okay."

Cathy sat back and sighed. " Well, personally, I'd take your offer up in a heartbeat. Problem is, it's not entirely up to me. I'll see what I can do, Mr. Messer, but I have to warn you, some might not jump on this deal so easily, even if it isn't asking a lot."

Calvin shrugged. " Just remind 'em that if they want the Quinns shut away for life, then they need to give me a little something for the trouble. I don't know how they could pass it up, I mean you gotta admit it's a sweet deal. But remember, _not_ witness protection. Quinns aside, I don't want Danny being forced into starting a new life with a new name and that crap."

Cathy smiled, visibly relaxing. " Understood. You really care a lot about your son."

" Obviously."

Then Cathy's smile fell, and she glanced uneasily down at her hands. " I have to tell you. Mr. Messer – more like warn you – the one that'll be hard to convince will be the agent heading the investigation."

Calvin narrowed his eyes. " You mean Stevenson."

" Exactly. But, maybe, after I tell him about what you told me, he'll lighten up. The thing is, he wants your testimony, not just one piece of information. He may not relent unless he has both."

" That'd be pushing it. Hand something over's one thing, but talking's gonna get my A-- shot at, and not necessarily by the the Quinns. Plus, Danny's troubles would just be starting. Other 'acquaintances' of mine might decide to use him if things start getting a little hot for them and I've been asked to do a little more talking. I'm in a bad position here, Miss Rodriguez, you need to understand that."

She nodded, and her features were purely sympathetic. " I do. Like I told you, I know the Quinns just as well as you, and I'm not willing to sacrifice innocent lives to put them away. It'd make me no better than them. Stevenson, on the other hand... he's a little more willing. His actions speak for him. He'll do what it takes to lock the Quinns up."

" Why? Personal vendetta?"

Cathy smirked. " More like pride. You say witness protection won't work, and I'm inclined to agree with you. Agent Stevenson set someone up in the WPP, this man who had something on Al Quinn. I don't even know what that something was. Three days before trial, and the man was found hanging in his bathroom. Suicide was ruled, but no one believed it, mostly because that's the third time it happened with a witness about to testify against a Quinn. Stevenson's pissed about how easily the Quinns keep slipping into the clear. You need to be careful of him."

Calvin snorted derisively. " Preaching to the choir. Thanks all the same, though."

With a promise that Cathy would look into aiding Danny, they shook hands and Calvin left the prosecutors office. Since Calvin had never met any of Danny's coworkers or boss, he had no idea how they could be of any help. Calvin's motivation for risking speaking to Rodriguez was based souly on a deep, almost all-consuming gut feeling that Danny needed to be granted the freedom to tell someone, _anyone_, what was going on, even after Calvin himself had warned Danny against it. Since Calvin was the reason for this mess, Danny was pretty much alone. He needed someone to have his back, to watch out for him since Calvin was pretty much unable to.

Once on the elevator, he slammed his fist into the wall. Fury raged through him like boiling magma.

_You're doin' it again, Messer. You're failing to protect your own kid. And you're the reason he's in trouble to begin with._ No amount of prison time was going to change his mind on the matter or make up for it. As far as he was concerned, he was ruining Danny's life.

CSINY

Danny had to hand it to Lindsay. Her initial shock at seeing him with a massive shiner was short lived, and after a quick explanation coupled with a few questions she shifted into professional mode as though the bruises on Danny's face didn't exist. His preoccupation was another matter.

" Messer. Messer!"

Danny, who'd been staring at her list of fish names without actually reading them, snapped his head up and around to look at her. She was leaning with her latex-gloved hands on the sterile counter of the lab, and arched her eyebrows at him.

" Well?"

" Well what?"

" The fish, Danny. Anything remarkably outstanding to you about the fish, and the oyster juice, and the oil stains. Any connections beginning to process in that apparently ADHD mind of yours? Because if not, I stayed here until three in the morning processing scales, oil, and juice to pretty much pass the time."

Danny dropped the paper and glared at her. " First off, you're not done. You only have five fish named, so a little premature to be making some connections. Second off, I appreciate your dedication and sympathize with you about having to work overtime, but you don't need to jump down my throat about it. Third, no, nothing comes to mind except sea-food restaurants, and we've got plenty of those around town. Although, keep in mind – fish eggs."

" What?"

" You've got fish eggs on the list. Caviar. And Caviar plus oysters usually means a high-society joint, so that narrows it down. Unless a place wasn't involved, just a truck that was randomly _borrowed_. But let's stick with what we do know."

Lindsay nodded, standing straight and folding her arms. " Okay, so we're probably not going to focus on local, cheap markets."

" Unless these eggs are cheap stuff. But, yeah, I'd stick with lack of being cheap."

" Well, if this stuff is so high-priced, it would be boxed up and wrapped up pretty tight, wouldn't it? How did Gerrard get so much of it all over himself? It's like he was laying directly on all of it or something."

" Maybe he wasn't dead when he rolled in the stuff. There could have been a struggle, or he was trying to find a way out, so managed to break a few crates and cans in the process. They might have had him hold up in some freezer and he was eating this crap to stay alive. I don't know, some crap like that. Personally, I'm leaning toward a struggle. Doesn't matter how tight something's packaged, a good body-slam'll open anything."

Lindsay picked up the list. " So, should we keep identifying the rest of the scales?"

Danny lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. " Might help. Some places like to cater to particular appetites. If we can find a fish that you wouldn't normally find at most joints, then that'd narrow it down even better. And with two workin' we should get done before – I'd say – at least midnight."

Lindsay grinned. " You go home long before then."

" Okay, you'll be done before midnight... hopefully."

Lindsay shook her head, glancing down at the list, then glancing at Danny. " You all right?"

Danny furrowed his brow. " What?"

She pointed. " You're holding your side."

Danny snatched his hand away. It couldn't be a good sign if he was starting to do that subconsciously.

" Just a little sore."

" Because of what happened last night?"

" Pretty much."

Lindsay seemed to accept this, and moved over to the small fridge to collect the samples. " You know, in the time I lived here, short as it may seem, I have yet to be mugged. It was kind of the first thing I expected to happen the moment I arrived. Biased, I know, but kind of hard to ignore when your mother's always talking about it in hopes of getting you to stay."

Danny nearly smiled but had yet to feel up to giving into humor. " Just wait. Happens to everyone eventually. Fourth time for me, although the other three weren't that violent, and one of the guy's I chased down and beat after I saw that his gun was just a metal pipe."

Lindsay flashed him an incredulous look over her shoulder. She then turned and lifted a single finger. " Now that's something I can easily imagine, you chasing down your own attacker and mugging _him f_or your own money."

Danny finally couldn't help a smile.

CSINY

Danny's heart was beating fast. He was afraid to go home; actually afraid to walk down his own block and step into his own place. It was a pathetic thing to feel, but circumstances wouldn't let him push it aside. In fact, circumstances were starting to make him consider taking a cab, not matter the traffic conditions.

Considering, but not acting upon. He refused to give in to self-consciousness just because a few weirdos had a morbid fascination with massive shiners. He wasn't going to start dictating his life around everything that was going on. Doing so would signify a loss of control on his part, an indication of irreversible change occurring against his will. It would be like giving into panic.

So no matter how mundane or insignificant the routine, holding to it gave Danny a small, comforting sense of self-control. So he took the subway, and glared coldly at anyone who stared for too long.

As usual, the car he was in was crowded, with no place to sit. He needed to either get home earlier, or convince Mac to let him stay later in order to avoid the off-work crowd. Of course, he probably would have avoided the worst part had he left at six rather than six-thirty. But he had felt bad about about leaving Lindsay to check out the last two samples, and felt even worse how his mind had kept wandering the whole time.

He needed to contact his dad, finish the conversation that had been interrupted. Despite his conviction not to get anyone else involved, the temptation to talk to someone was turning into a need. Truth be told, scared as he already was, the fear was growing even more potent. A physical attack held too many connotations, and Danny didn't want to end up with a crippled hand because each of his fingers had been broken. Hell, he didn't want to end up crippled in anyway, period. The hit and run had been a close enough call in that aspect.

He needed someone to watch his back.

The train wound down to a halt, and the doors slid open. People began crowding off and Danny became caught up in the flow, wincing and murmuring a few favorite curse words with each jarring of his frame. Yet another reason he was considering cabs.

Danny was five feet from the door when a woman yelped, a man cussed, and a body collided into Danny's back. He felt a sharp pain in his bad shoulder at the impact, and snapped out a curse for everyone to hear.

" Son of bitch, What the hell!" he practically snarled, glaring over his shoulder at the young man bundled in a scarf, coat and black cap.

" Watch where you're going," the man who had cursed joined in.

" Oh, sorry, man. Crap! I am so sorry," the kid apologized, then righted himself by pushing on Danny's back - on the more tender side.

" _Get off of me!" _Danny barked when the pain ripped through him like wild fire.

" Dude, sorry!" came the kid's indignant reply.

Danny hurried away from the klutzy kid and off of the train. Once out, he leaned against a pillar momentarily to catch his breath and allow the pain to abate into a dull throb.

" You okay, man?" The voice was familiar; the man who'd cussed just as loud as Danny. He turned his head to look at the gray haired man in the gray overcoat carrying a brief-case. Adjacent to him was a young Asian woman in a lavender coat eying Danny in concern – most likely the woman who had yelped.

Danny nodded. " Yeah." He spread the fingers of his throbbing arm. " Just got snagged in a bad spot. I'll be fine in a minute."

The business man shook his head in disgust. " That kid was kockin' into everyone. I'd check to make sure you got your wallet."

Danny smiled wanly. " In my bag."

The man continued on, and the woman stepped up. " Need any help?"

Danny shook his head. " Naw. Got it covered. Thanks."

Then she moved on as well.

The klutz was no where in sight, probably long gone with everyone's wallet.

When the pain became only an annoying ache, Danny followed suit of the two concerned citizens and went on his way. He tensed on stepping outside into the frigid air that hurt to breathe, and that tension reawakened a small burning stab of pain in Danny's shoulder. But his mind was too preoccupied with keeping an eye on his surroundings to care. Though the sidewalks were made very public with so many heading home, it didn't stop Danny's heart from lurching every time someone in a dark coat walked past, or when someone shouted to someone else from a distance.

Arriving home was even worse. He turned his head every which way, flinching when he heard a door shut. The elevator took only a second to open but felt like five minutes, and once on he immediately had the doors slide shut without checking to see if anyone else wanted on, though there was no one else around. After reaching his floor, he stood in front of his own door for two minutes before finally slipping the key into the lock and opening it. He entered slowly, straining his ears for the slightest sound and catching the distinct murmur of his neighbor's TV.

He set down his bag, slipped of his coat, then checked every room, including his closet and under his bed. He ended at the fridge, having saved it for last since it seemed to be drawing all the negative attention. He found no note, and inside the shelves were still devoid of food.

For once, Danny was able to let out a breath of relief. He wasn't dumb enough to actually believe the Quinns had backed off, but he could at least allow himself a moment of reprise from worry, and bask in any lack of incident.

He dropped himself onto his couch, and clenched his jaw when his shoulder burned. Not his usual pain since it was supposed to be more like a throb or a dull cramp. What he felt now was almost like a pinched nerve. He couldn't blame the kid, though. Crowded subways were always precarious to maneuver through.

Still, a face to face apology would have been the decent thing to do.

Danny tilted his head back, which had begun to pulse uncomfortably. He needed to order in, and call his dad, yet at the moment didn't have the energy or the desire to move. He just let himself go numb, and allowed his thoughts to wander incoherently until he became lost in their surrealism. Rambling images created a nice effect that let him forget everything else, including any pain he was feeling. He observed Lindsay with a can of caviar she had brought to the lab for some reason, but couldn't open it. Danny tried, but another lid appeared beneath the first because the can was 'double sealed to lock in freshness.' The problem was, once he got it open, it was only to discover that the can was not caviar but already cooked hamburger. Then came a loud pounding...

Danny snapped his head up and blinked blearily, but the pounding continued. He slipped his hand beneath his glasses and rubbed his eyes. " Freakin' dreams." He winced when the pounding sounded again.

" Hold on!" he snapped, and pushed himself with a moan to his feet. He forced his sluggish legs to move, and his even more sluggish brain to pull itself from the mire it was floundering in. He groped for the lock and flipped it, then yanked the door open.

Two men stood outside the entry, but Danny only noticed one of them as his brain shot out of the mire into full reality and his heart slammed against his sternum.

Jack Quinn smiled. " Hey Danny. You gonna invite us in or what?"

CSINY

A/N: Oh! It's the vile, voracious, villainous cliffhanger! Will it never end? Mmmmmm, not for a while, no. Still lots more to occur. Lots more Danny abuse in store. (Danny's going to come after me if I'm not careful. Boy I can't wait!) Though I must say it's going to be somewhat mild up until the end (in comparison to what I have in store for the end, I mean). I always save the best for last.

I would like to thank everyone for their lovely comments, especially Dybdahl. Your comments amuse me you sick, twisted Danny fan you. What is it about our favorite characters getting hurt that's just so dang – hot?

Also, inquiry. I was going to have Danny bring his gun home, but then it got me thinking; If the characters _do_ take public transportation home, like the subway, would they bring their guns? I'm assuming (especially in this day and age with security becoming so tight everywhere) that it would be a hassle for them should the gun be found or if there's metal detectors and such. Just a thought. It's why I didn't mention Danny having his gun on him if anyone was wondering.


	12. Ch 11

Ch. 11

Danny contemplated the odds of him reaching the gun he kept stashed in the drawer of the nightstand by his bed. If he took off at a run, he wouldn't get five feet before he was tackled. If he played things cool, made some excuse that took him into his room, he could step out and put a bullet in Jack and company's head before they could blink. But that was anger thinking for him, not really self-defense. Jack wasn't stupid enough to try something that he could be connected to. He wasn't a threat – at the immediate moment.

Getting the gun was still a tempting novelty if just to see the shocked look on Jack's face.

" If I told you to go to hell, would you go there?" Danny asked.

Jack, never one to lose a smirk, just kept on smirking. " Probably not."

" Then what the hell makes you think I'm gonna let you in?" Danny then proceeded to shut the door, only to have Jack plant his hand on it and push the opposite way.

" Danny, that's freakin' cold, man." He then shoved the door open, pulling it from Danny's slightly weaker grasp. Jack wasn't any sort of a Rambo-sized hard body, but he always seemed to posses an uncanny amount of strength that begged to differ otherwise. But then that had always been Jack's weapon of choice – muscle and a fast fist. He liked to deal with situations in a literal hands-on sort of way.

At any other time, Danny wouldn't have been the least bit intimidated. Brawn wasn't the only advantage out there since there was also speed, and Danny was plenty fast when he needed to be. But that was only when he was one hundred percent, and at the moment he didn't even feel quite up to fifty-percent.

Self-loathing tightened Danny's chest, but rather than stifle it he used it to give Jack the dirtiest look he could. Which was all he could do under the circumstances. He stiffly stepped back as Jack and his cohort stepped in. The second 'invited intruder' was shorter than Jack, and shorter than Danny as well by an inch. He had broad shoulders under a brown leather jacket, dark hair that was combed back, and side-burns running past his ears. The combination of wide, brown, wild-looking eyes and sharp features immediately brought to Danny's mind the images of various kinds of ferrets, weasels, and rats.

_Want a piece of Ipecac-laced cheese you rodent face son of a... _Danny regretted throwing the food out, now having nothing to offer his _guests._

When Jack's crony entered, he walked with a stiff, agitated gate with eyes darting all over the place and hands shoved rigidly in the pockets of his jeans. Those same madly roving eyes were bloodshot, and Danny's anger escalated.

_Rotten little SOB's high!_

" Who the hell's he?" Danny asked, staring fixedly at junky-boy.

Jack glanced over his shoulder as though just realizing someone else was behind him. " Oh, him, yeah. Danny Messer, meet Al Moran." He looked back and Danny and grinned. " Al, meet Danny."

Al's eyes finally landed on Danny, and he twitched his head in a nod of greeting, flashing a quick, not-quite-all-there smile.

Danny narrowed his eyes. " He all right?"

Jack shrugged. " He's cool. He's my right hand man, Al is. But, of course, we're not here to talk about Al."

" So then you just brought him along for the company or to hold me down so you can pulverize the snot out of me without worryin' about retaliation?"

Al snorted out a laugh, then shook his head. Jack just continued to hold a nonchalant grin. " It's good to have back-up. Makes me feel safe when I go walkin' down the street in a strange neighborhood or have to visit with people who seem to have some sort of aversion to me..."

" Jack, just tell me why the hell you're here so you can get the freak out."

Behind Jack, Al closed the door, then leaned his back against it like a bouncer waiting for the lines to form. Danny maintained his mask of anger, but inside his heart was pumping fast.

Jack started back, scrunching his brow with slight confusion. " Danny, Danny, Danny... chill, bro. Man you are one cold-hearted little pit-bull waiting to happen, you know that?" He chuckled softly. " Hell, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were getting ready to rip my throat out. But you do know better than that, right Danny-boy?" The grin never left. The eyes, however, darkened as though someone had slapped a shadow over them. " You're not stupid."

Now Danny was reconsidering the gun in terms of self-preservation. His own back-up. But he held his ground by not moving, even when Jack stepped closer. Jack removed the glove from his left hand, then gently placed his hand on Danny's right shoulder. Danny went rigid.

" I've just been a little worried about you, pal. I mean with all the heat between our two families and the things both sides are resorting to... Plus the fact that you're hurt, which, of course, means you're probably weak... Face it, Danny, you might as well wear a sign on your back that says 'shoot me'."

Jack squeezed Danny's shoulder – hard. Pain erupted, Danny barked out a cry, then pulled away from Jack's vice grip.

" Oops," Jack mumbled, but wasn't even looking at Danny. He was looking at his hand, turning it this way and that, studying the blood smeared all over his fingers and palm. " Sorry about that. Hey, what'd you make of this?" He held his hand palm out for Danny to see.

Danny, lightly holding his shoulder, stared at Jack's crimson soaked fingers. He then pulled his own hand away to see his fingers covered in a similar manner. He reached back, wiping his hand along his shoulder blade, then looked at his hand again now painted in blood.

Fear would have taken a strangle hold if fury hadn't arrived first. Danny started shaking with a rage that was pulling and screaming at him to run into the bedroom, grab the gun, and let Jack know what it was like to pull his hand away and find it covered in his own blood. The problem was, it would have taken too long, and Danny wanted to do something now.

" What did you do to me to sadistic piece of sh..." he moved forward only to stop when Jack planted his bloody hand back on Danny's shoulder for another squeeze, this time holding tight enough to keep Danny from backing away. The look in Jack's eyes was void, as though his mind had decided to shut down all emotions.

" Danny, don't you dare blame this on me. Besides, it probably isn't that bad. I think I might have reopened it is all. I've got to go. Sorry I can't stay longer. You take care of that cut. And if your dad happens to call... you know the drill, sayin' hi for me and everything."

Jack released Danny and turned to go. Danny wanted to bash the man over the head with the nearest object he could find, but was hindered since his only working limb was occupied trying to stifle the bleeding of the other limb. So, instead, he straightened as best he could and lifted his head.

" Torture any dogs lately, Jack? Or are you just reservin' it all for me?"

Jack stopped and turned to face Danny. He pulled a few tissues from his pocket and proceeded to wipe Danny's blood from his hands. His expression was impassive, but at least he had stopped smiling.

" It's a necessary evil, Messer. You know that."

" Necessary or a lot of fun? You tellin' me you're not enjoying this? 'Cause, you know, I'm getting this crazy feeling that you came here because your buddies were havin' all the good times messing me up and you weren't. You really doing this to keep my dad in check, or because you miss makin' me your punching bag?"

Jack wadded the bloodied tissues up and shoved them into his pocket. His lips turned up in another smile that made Danny's flesh crawl.

" Don't know what you're talking about."

Danny shrugged. " I wasn't expecting you to admit anything, Jack, I was just wondering. Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

" Sure, Messer, whatever you say."

" Don't push it, Quinn."

Jack gave another soft chuckle. " You're a funny man, Messer. _Don't push it..._" He turned, and Al opened the door for the two to head out. Once on the other side of the threshold, Danny stalked over and slammed the door after them, then locked it.

_Note to self: Never answer the door again. Or: get gun first, then answer the door._

With Quinn and his dope-buddy out of his hair he was able to put all his attention to his bleeding onslaught. He started handling it by heading to the bathroom and turning his back to the mirror. His shirt at the shoulder was soaked, and there was a four-inch slit in the material. He lifted up his shirt to see a two-inch long cut in his skin that oozed and sent a small drop of blood tracing a red line down his back to the bandage around his chest.

Being no stranger to lacerations, Danny was pretty certain the gash he had now was superficial – deep, but not bad enough to need stitches. Of course, getting stitches would have been playing it safe, but questions would have followed. And he couldn't figure out how Al had cut him. He hadn't been holding anything when he placed his hand on Danny's shoulder.

_Freakin' magician crap._

Danny pulled out his first aid kit, cleaned the cut with rubbing alcohol, then covered it with a folded piece of gauze held in place by tape. After that, he changed into a clean shirt. He moved sluggishly back to the couch, just to sit for a moment and collect himself. If he drifted off again – oh well. It was better than giving into endless thought that didn't go anywhere. There wasn't much he could do about Quinn at the moment, and he was too tired to think. The adrenaline of only seconds ago had burned itself clean from his system.

Danny stepped in front of the couch and stopped. A bright red stain glared at him from the light-colored fabric.

Danny looked at the stain without any definable feeling except numbness. He refused to invest any emotion into what gradually began to blossom into realization. Forcing himself away from the couch, he went to where he had dumped his coat and picked it up. Sure enough, there was a four-inch slit in the shoulder. He let the coat slip from his hands.

" Now I gotta get a new one." It explained why the little SOB who had knocked into him on the subway never apologized.

Danny went back to the couch and dropped into it, wincing at his bones being assaulted by the impact.

He knew he should have been burning with rage, kicking or throwing something. Physical energy, however, had turned its back on him. It was as though seeing blood on his couch – proof that Jack hadn't been the one to cut him, just make the stupid gash bleed again – had sapped him of everything he had left strength-wise. It didn't help that his head felt filled with a thick liquid that was pushing against his brain, pulsing with every beat of his suddenly loud heart. He ached, not just in his head, shoulder, and sides but everywhere.

" Damn it," he murmured, dropping his head back against the couch. He knew he needed to call his dad, but lost the will to move.

CSINY

Calvin was in a doze, which was all he could achieve when it came to sleeping. He was tired enough to nod off on a whim, the problem was his mind didn't know when to shut up. He never dreamed – he pondered endlessly. Mostly what-ifs, what might be, and what was happening even now: all centering around Danny, of course.

Calvin wasn't afraid to go to jail. Going to the same prison as his enemies was a little unnerving, but prison itself – not so much, at least not so much now. People eventually got out of prison. Besides, Calvin couldn't deny that he probably deserved it. He wasn't exactly a model citizen.

But Danny was.

Rodriguez had yet to call back, and his phone had remained silent for the better part of the day. He took it as a good thing, mostly because he needed a little respite from the panicky thoughts that kept trying to cram into his brain. Quinn wouldn't do anything life-threatening to Danny, which was the only reassurance Calvin had. So, he could safely assume that a quiet phone was something to relax about.

Getting some good sleep would have been better.

He shifted slightly in the easy chair. A bed would be healthier, but his body was being stubborn, and he didn't want to have to deal with dragging himself through the routine of getting ready for bed. Chair or bed, anywhere was fine if it led to dreams, which, of course, didn't happen.

The image of Danny's bruised face kept slamming into his conscious, driving out the dreams, and dragging along the image of Danny at age ten, battered and mute with the discomfort of it. The kid never seemed able to avoid a bruise or two, mixed with a cracked bone on occasion. Even his well-known name, and his stubborn refusal to give in, didn't keep those little Tanglewood freaks from jumping him when they could get away with it. They had called themselves his friends, but decked him more than once, probably because he never allowed their mark to get inked on the back of his neck. Danny never admitted to the attacks, mostly because he never admitted to much, but Calvin had known the truth through the tension of the Tanglewood boys whenever Calvin appeared and saw the bruising.

Life had never been easy for Danny, not with all the negative affiliations surrounding him. But he had tried, had pushed, and wallowed through the muck of being part of a dark family history to come out better than any of them. Most would call what Calvin was thinking the product of fatherly pride, but it was far more; it was the cold, hard truth. Danny had become the better man, and was hated for it.

_He'll be all right. The kid can handle himself._ The mantra only gave him a few minutes of peace.

A rapid pounding ripped Calvin from his doze. He blinked several times, then winced when the pounding sounded again. Rolling his eyes, he pushed himself from the warm comfort of the chair and dragged his stiff frame to the door.

" I'm coming!" he called, even though the pounding had stopped. " That better not be you, Stevenson," Calvin grumbled. He put his hand on the knob, and heard tires squeal as some maniac slammed on the gas. When Calvin opened the door he saw his porch to be devoid of any human occupants. A natural inclination for these types of situations forced him to look down. Sitting on his mat was a small pocket knife, like a Swiss army knife. He crouched to pick it up, turning it in the light of the porch. It was caked with dried blood.

Calvin brought the knife inside, turning it over, holding it by the end between his thumb and forefinger. He slowly lowered himself back into his chair but leaned forward to examine the knife. The blood was thickest at the tip.

Calvin had no questions concerning this find. He already knew the answers. The next step – call Danny. Calvin hesitated. He stretched out his arm to drop the knife – free of fingerprints, he knew – onto the coffee table. He stared at it, willing it to become something more human, something he could strangle or pound mercilessly, letting it feel the pain it liked to inflict. There wasn't a lot of blood, so the wound created could not have been that bad. But the knife looked dirty.

Calvin's eyes burned. He blinked, and the burning traced itself down his face. Calvin wiped them away and took a deep breath. He let it out slowly, closed his eyes, and felt two more tears tracing two new paths. Pain tightened his chest and throat.

Calvin was adept at not crying, mostly because he knew when to let it out, counting three times in all his life: Once when his son was beaten, once when his wife died, and now.

Calvin clasped his hands together, lowered his head, and wept a ceaseless apology to his son.

CSINY

A/N: I promise that Mac will find out what's going on very soon. Please refrain from lighting torches and burning me at the stake. Killing the author will not solve your dilemma, only make it worse.

Also, if you think Danny's cut did indeed need stitches because of all the bleeding, I'm telling you from experience that he'll survive without getting sewn up. I sliced my foot once and probably should have gotten stitches, but I didn't. Now I have a honking-big scar. Still, I lived. As will Danny.


	13. Ch 12

A/N: I apologize profusely for the late, late posting of this chapter. No worries, my computer is still functioning. I'd made the mistake of working on two stories at the same time, alternating between them. It was driving me crazy. So I put CSI aside for a tidge since story number two was almost done and I wanted to finish it. Now that it's out of the way, I can focus more on Danny and his plight. Again, apologies. Never work on two stories at the same time, they tend to start fighting.

Ch. 12

" Does he look all right to you?" Stella twitched her head a centimeter in Mac's direction, but her eyes remained fixed on Danny through the windows of the break room. The younger male CSI was sitting heavily at the table across from Lindsay, and as she talked, he listened, nodding every now and then. He had only made one fourth of a dent in his sandwich and it appeared that he was not going to attempt lifting it again any time soon.

" Stella, don't take offense, but since when did you become all _mother hen_?"

Stella pulled her reluctant gaze away from Danny to give Mac a heavy-lidded glare. Mac was smirking at her, ever so slightly. Never one for full blown grins – Mac. Subtle ways meant subtle expressions. Still, it was enough to irk even Stella.

" Since I watched one of our team get mutilated by a phantom car."

Mac arched his eyebrows. " I assumed as much. I just wanted to make sure you're aware of what you're doing."

" And that is...?"

" Mother henning."

" Is that even a word?"

The smirk returned. " It is now." Then he dropped the grin, and turned his own gaze to Danny-watching. " He looks... pale, tired. And I have good reason to suspect he isn't eating like he should be."

Stella folded her arms and shook her head. " What gave it away? His barely touched lunch." They weren't close enough to the window to be noticed by Danny right off, not with all the people passing by in between. Stella felt almost invisible, and the notion made her squirm.

_Mac Says mother hen. I say guardian angel. Either way, Danny's gonna hate it if he finds out._

" I'm telling you, Mac. Something isn't right," she said.

" Is that your professional opinion talking, or lingering concern? You do know about your own die-hard protective streak, don't you?"

Stella looked at him oddly. " What?"

Mac returned her gaze, smirk-free. " You're protective, Stella. It's one of the traits I admire about you, but not if it's going to become a distraction. I know what happened to Danny was a nightmare, but he survived and he's healing. He doesn't need anyone hovering over him, making sure it doesn't happen again. It would only piss him off."

Stella looked back at Danny and lifted one shoulder in an uncertain shrug. " I"m sorry, it's just... the first day he came in after sick leave... something just didn't feel right. When Danny was in the hospital I was talking to this doctor about accidents, infections, stuff like that. He said that, sometimes, after going through the kind of crap Danny went through, people _tended_ to experience some depression, even a few phobias..." She shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her. " I don't know what it is, Mac. It's like I can't get it into my head that he's right there, right in front of me. All I keep seeing when I close my eyes is him lying on the ground..." she faltered on the description. " I see the accident."

" Have you talked with anyone about it?"

" Yeah, I did the counseling thing. I'm not sure if it's helping. Mac, what I saw happen to Danny... It was practically unnatural. A logical piece of me keeps arguing that he shouldn't be alive."

" So, one might say, you're still in shock."

Stella pursed her lips. " Maybe. Crap... I just... I wanted to do something so bad, stop the bleeding. But I couldn't. I – I didn't want to put my hand on the wound. I didn't want to feel... I didn't want to feel his _bones. _So, I just watched him bleed."

" Guilt trips don't do anyone any good. You stayed by his side, had someone call in back-up, and were there at the hospital giving information. Besides, with the wound Danny got, it would have taken more than a hand or a rag to stop the bleeding."

She sighed. " I know." Too bad guilt couldn't take the hint. But then so went the ways of those witnesses doubling as saviors, there was always more they wished they could have done, even long after the fact.

Maybe watching Danny wasn't an act of protection. Maybe she was just being selfish, waiting to see that moment when Danny's old spark returned and he was himself again. Maybe she wanted everything to go back to the way it had been so that she could pretend the hit and run had never happened. Seemed a logical enough reason. Discomfort knotted her guts every time she saw Danny – thin, subdued and quiet. Observing him now, Danny had yet to smile at Lindsay, even when Lindsay grinned. No joking, no teasing, no feline smirks; it was as though someone had finally beaten Danny down, broken him, took what was left of him and reformed him into his own antithesis.

It was as though the whole hit and run deal wasn't even over.

" I still say something's wrong," she said.

" Want me to talk to him?"

She shrugged. " Doubt it would do any good. Has Danny been to counseling?"

" I'm not sure. Someone came to talk to him in the hospital. After that he talked about going to one or two sessions. Now I don't know."

Stella looked at Mac warily. " You're not making him go?"

" I just said he went. Keeping the sessions going is his business."

Stella looked back at Danny. Lindsay had finished her lunch, and the two were now gathering their trash to toss it into the can. Stella didn't miss the wince Danny made on rising. She needed to talk to him, see if she couldn't scrape up the reasoning behind her concern. The only problem was getting Danny to talk without him realizing what the conversation was really about. Danny hated pity, and if he ever found out that Stella was 'mother-henning' him, he'd try to avoid talking to her for a while – not out of spite, she knew, but more out of discomfort.

Stella wasn't one for comfort speeches, anyway.

Danny and Lindsay left the break room. Now wasn't the time for talk.

_So just when is?_

CSINY

" Did Mac _really_ give you the thumbs up to do this?" Lindsay asked as she negotiated the CSI issued vehicle through the streets. She hated driving cars that were loaners, renters, or work issued. It was not that she was a bad driver (her near spotless record say for a few tickets attested to it) but being behind the wheel of a vehicle that wasn't hers added to the burden of driving without a hitch. Add to that trying to find her way through the streets of New York - a practical maze for those you lived there and a still uncharted realm for her - and her nerve-endings felt ready to pop like fire-crackers.

Then there was Danny, who up until now had been under headquarter arrest.

_So help me, Danny, if you just manipulated me, I'll break your other arm. _It was a harsh thought, but Lindsay was not in the mood to play nice, not if Danny was messing with her just to get his way.

" I asked him," Danny replied. " Told him I could help out on finding the kind of restaurant or whatever we're looking for, and he said fine. It's not like we're goin' on a hiking trip through New York. Just show me the area you and Stell checked out, and I'll scope what restaurants look ripe for a warrant."

" So what makes you so expert on caviar and restaurants?"

" My dad. He's acquainted with a lot of people with money to burn, and they tend to do business lunch's where there's caviar and crap like that. I just had the misfortune of being dragged along half the time. Went in hungry, came out hungry. Places like that aren't too big on kid's menus."

" And that makes you expert?"

" A little."

" But enough for Mac to give you to go-ahead?"

Danny shrugged his good shoulder. " Apparently."

When they stopped at a light, Lindsay took the opportunity to look over at Danny. Nothing about his posture or expression disclosed that he was lying – or twisting the truth. He was relaxed to the point that he seemed ready to fall asleep. He was staring out the window with an unfocused gaze, watching everything but registering nothing. She could drive out of New York itself and he probably wouldn't notice. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to be manipulative.

She hadn't known Danny that long, and her basic opinion of him was that he was annoying – or at least very good at being annoying. But he was also professional, which aided her tolerance of him. She had worked with worse – sexists, infatuates – neither of which described Danny. He was more like an obnoxious brother, but obnoxious brother she could deal with. Danny was a tease, but not derogatory about it. Being the new girl, slight hazing was to be expected, and what Danny dished out was very much in her means to handle. Plus, Stella had said that Danny didn't mind the occasional physical reaction – a slap on the arm or a jerk of the elbow to the ribs. Not a bad deal, really.

Not that she would ever admit it out loud – and at times tried not to think about it – but Danny could be kind of cute when he was being clever.

Lindsay didn't know what to make of Danny's recent silent state of being. She was used to bracing herself for an onslaught of teasing, now she just felt awkward. It was similar to those situations of silence in which it was felt that something needed to be said, yet no one could figure out what to say.

More like Lindsay couldn't figure out what to say, except ask for the third time if Danny was telling the truth about Mac letting him do some outdoor investigating. Since she was already on edge, the silence in between her hassling him was adding itself to her mound of irritation. Prodding him was her form of taking her frustration out on him, and she felt bad about it. It wasn't his fault that he was acting opposite to what she was used to. The guy was still hurt, and for all she knew whatever pain medication he had taken was probably starting to wear off.

Although, she had to wonder whether Danny had put on an act to convince Mac to let him do this. Danny looked thoroughly exhausted, and the lack of color in his face darkened the shadows under his eyes and the lingering bruises. No way would Mac have let him go if he saw him now.

" Fine, but if you pass out, you're the one who Mac gets to chew up and spit out. I refuse to be involved."

" Sure thing," Danny replied.

When they came to another red light, Lindsay did another glance. " Danny, if you're sick – or getting sick – I will make you wish you never came into work today. I am not going to be your babysitter."

Danny didn't say anything, or even look at her. Lindsay's jaw dropped.

" You _are _sick, aren't you! Mac is going to have your ass...!"

" I'm tired!" Danny snapped above her tirade. " Chill, Montana, I'm just tired. I didn't sleep good last night. All right? Is that okay with you? I'm not infectious or anything."

Lindsay flinched in surprise. Until now, she had never heard Danny use his nickname for her in conjunction with such a heated, angry tone.

" Sorry," she said, pathetically attempting to sound affronted.

" That's okay," Danny replied, pushing himself up to sit a little straighter. " You're worried, I'm tired, it's no big deal. I just didn't want to sit around the lab all day."

" Why didn't you stay home, try to get some better rest?"

" At the moment, that's not any better. I've got some stuff going on. Kind of makes it hard to relax."

" Oh." The awkwardness returned, this time vengefully.

_Great, let's pour a little salt on a few wounds, Lindsay._ She didn't know him well enough to ask him to elaborate, let alone offer helpful words or aid. But at least she had an explanation for why Danny was acting the way he was.

Thankfully, the unease of the situation was interrupted when they arrived at their destination. It wasn't so much a single place as a series of street blocks lined by various stores.

" This is it," Lindsay said. " You know, this really is a long shot. For all we know, the place we're looking for is half-way across town. Would the killers really choose a place so close to their own business to dump a body?"

" As a matter of convenience, yeah, especially if a vehicle like a company truck was involved. You'd want to get it back and get it cleaned as soon as possible. Even if what we're looking for isn't a restaurant but like some place where they keep a truck or the fish we're looking for, it's still gotta be around here somewhere."

" Good point. So, how should we do this? Driving, walking...?" she looked Danny over carefully. " It's pretty cold out. Plus we still don't know what we're looking for."

Danny craned his neck to observe their surroundings. " Traffic's not bad around here. Let's drive, see what looks worth checking out."

Though Lindsay would have loved putting the car in park, it still wasn't quite worth going into the cold for. She recalled – from coming with Stella - where a few restaurants were located, plus warehouses where sea-food might be housed before distribution.

" I think Stella and I saw three sea-food places," she said. " Four Chinese, two all you-can-eats, and two that looked like the kind of places you described – the ones that cater to every appetite."

Danny nodded thoughtfully. " Let's focus on the sea-food and the last two places you mentioned."

" Good, because they're actually en route of eachother."

The first sea-food place they came upon, Danny told Lindsay to just keep going. She had assumed it to be one of the high-society establishments Danny had talked of, and had been about to pull up to it. It wasn't crowded, had a fancy name written in fancy script, and she was able to catch a glimpse of a waiter decked out in a kind of tuxedo with a red jacket.

" Look at the people going in," Danny said. She did, and saw nothing that struck her as out of the ordinary. Families, couples, friends... normal patrons of a normal restaurant.

" They wearin' suits or anything?" Danny asked. Lindsay shrugged.

" I don't know, I wasn't paying attention to what they were wearing."

" Half the crowd going in was wearing jeans. Places that serve caviar don't usually sport client el wearing denim, unless they're eccentric or something."

" But even you weren't sure if the caviar came from a restaurant or a store."

Danny nodded. " True, but if it is from a restaurant, it's going to be the kind people have to dress up to get into."

The second sea-food place they actually did stop at. The name alone - something French that Lindsay couldn't read because of the flowing jointed script that was overdone in her opinion - was enough to have Lindsay pull over and Danny assent to it. The people going in were very well dressed as though just coming in off work for a business dinner. Danny and Lindsay didn't go in themselves, just requested a menu from the maitre'd, plus the name of the person or people who owned the place.

" Just trying to find the right place for our reception," Danny had told the man who was eying Danny as though he were a vagrant trying to bum change. Internally, Lindsay seethed. Outside she forced a smile on her face like the happy bride she was pretending to be. Once back in the car, she shot Danny a withering look.

Danny shrugged. " I don't think he would have been as helpful if we flashed our badges. Besides, receptions mean big bucks. The guy was practically drooling about it the moment I said the words and he stopped staring at my face."

Again, Lindsay saw no indications that Danny was messing with her. Her second opinion of Danny was that he was someone to watch out for. His ability to keep a straight face and sound dead-pan serious was uncanny.

" Name of the owner didn't ring a bell though," he said next.

" Should it have?"

" Maybe, if Gerrard's death is mob related."

At the next street after passing a shopping complex that seemed expensive just to look at, they neared the next restaurant on Lindsay's mental list. But instead of pulling up to it, she parked at the nearest unoccupied meter.

" What gives?" Danny asked.

" This place has valet parking. No offense to the convenience of someone else parking your car, but I kind of have a problem with other people touching something that's CSI property. That and it's not like we're staying or anything."

Danny smiled his first smile since he came into work that morning. The two of them stepped out into the gray, frost-bitten day with their breath rising up in snaking wisps of smoke. Danny visibly shivered.

" You all right in this?" Lindsay asked.

" I'll live."

They headed up the sidewalk to the restaurant where people matching Danny's description of the type who would frequent such places entered and exited beneath a bright red canopy. Limousines and cars that looked to cost several years of Lindsay's salary pulled in then out in an almost continuous flow. A white limousine was next in line, and when the occupant slid out from the warm interior, Lindsay's steps slowed to a stop.

" Hey, that's that rapper that got shot at last year. I thought he was dead. Guess not."

" Ah son of a bitch!"

Lindsay whirled around to give Danny a narrow-eyed look. But Danny wasn't staring at the supposedly dead rapper. He was staring at the name of the restaurant – Cassio's – and Lindsay actually witnessed the remaining color drain from his face. He began backing up as though confronted by something that terrified him, but knowing better than to run which would draw attention to himself.

" Danny, what is it?" Lindsay asked, following and glancing periodically over her shoulder. She wasn't sure whether she should also be afraid or shake Danny out of whatever stupor he was in.

Danny turned, hunching his good shoulder as if trying to hide his face, and muttering curse after curse.

" Danny?" She had to quicken her pace to catch up with him. By the time she did, he was already getting back into the car.

Lindsay, lost in a confusion that was slowly inching toward panic, hurried to the driver's side and slid in. When she looked at Danny she froze. He was hunched down in his seat, breathing hard, pale, and trembling.

" Danny..."

" We gotta go, now."

" But..."

" Lindsay, just start this car and head back. I need to talk to Mac. I can't be here, I need to be taken off this case."

" What...?"

Danny looked at Lindsay, but rather than being angry or irritated, he appeared desperate, even scared.

" Lindsay, please, just get out of here now. I can't explain it, I can't talk about it. Just trust me when I say that I _really_ shouldn't be here right now."

Lindsay nodded, not yet panicking, but finally – thoroughly - frightened herself. " Um, yeah, okay Danny." She put the key in the ignition and started the car up, pulling away to do a U-turn, letting the restaurant shrink away in the rear-view mirror.

CSINY

A/N: The time draweth near! Soon, soon all shall be revealed to Mac. And soon, things will get much, much worse.


	14. Ch 13

A/N: Nice, angsty chapter. I think you'll appreciate it. And Danny does have a brother! I knew I should have squeezed one in somewhere. And I have no idea if Mac has any clue about Danny's 'colorful family background' or not. He knew that Danny had hung out with the Tanglewood gang, but apparently that seems to be it, or why would Danny act so nervous when his name is mentioned by Sonny? Or is he nervous about Sonny getting revenge? Too much to consider. Anyways, for the sake of the story, I'm going with Mac _not_ knowing.

Ch. 13

" I need off this case, Mac."

It was a blunt, no-argument statement delivered with such conviction that it caught Mac like a sucker-punch to the face. Number one; it was Danny saying the words, the man who never left a case unless pulled from it. Number two; the kaleidescope of emotions playing on his face was saying a lot more than his words could.

There was shame, unease, anger – Mac was seeing them all in a moment even with Danny's gaze fixed firmly on Mac's desk.

" Your reason being...?"

Danny sat up so that his spine was as perpendicular as possible to the chair. His gaze remained in the downward position.

" That's kind of the problem, Mac, I – um – I'm not sure how much I can tell you. Hell, _I'm_ not even supposed to know."

" Know what?"

When Danny finally lifted his eyes, it was to look to the right at the wall. The hand of his good arm was death-gripping the armrest of the seat, and his other hand was clenching and unclenching as though he were trying to relieve a cramp in his fingers.

" Well, um..." he lifted his shoulder in a shrug, looked down, then looked left. " Like I said..."

Nothing spelled out 'spooked Danny' like a stiff back, fidgeting, and lack of any eye contact. Motion defined him, and when he was upset in anyway, the motion increased. It only stopped when a nerve was struck, hard.

" Are you in some kind of trouble, Danny?"

At this question, the motion stopped, and Danny went statue-still. He no longer appeared simply _uneasy; _now he looked scared.

" A little," was his reply. He finally looked at Mac. " Actually it has more to do with something going down with my dad. That restaurant me and Lindsay were about to scope belongs to this guy by the name of Quinn. I honestly don't think I need to ask you if that name rings a bell."

" I wouldn't be doing my job right if I said that it didn't. My third case as a CSI had one George Quinn as the suspect. But unlike the rest of his family, George was actually convicted for aiding the suspect, not for the crime itself. Still, it was a big deal, even if George was considered Al Quinn's screw-up brother. What does this have to do with your dad?"

Danny looked back at the desk and the motion resumed. " That's what I'm having a hard time with. I don't know how much I can say. I'm not supposed to even be talking about this, but... You need the reason why I can't work this Gerrard case. If it helps, I'll just say that if the Quinns are involved in Gerrard's murder, then I can't be involved with this case."

Mac shook his head. " It doesn't help, Danny. Why can't you tell me? Is it because of your dad? Did he do something? Did the Quinns? Danny, whatever the situation, you're in no position to hold anything back, even if you are trying to protect someone or prevent something from happening. I need to know the exact reason why you can't help on this case."

Danny lifted his eyes to once again look at Mac, and the motion stopped. " What if it's a legal thing? What if I've been court ordered not to talk? No, not really _court ordered_, but I'm pretty sure one's going to be shoved under my door any day now. I mean I haven't told anyone else, but my dad talked and he wasn't supposed to..." Danny looked away, shaking his head.

Mac leaned forward, folding his hands on top of his desk. " Danny, as your supervisor, I'm giving you an order. You don't have a choice. And since the court order you mentioned doesn't appear to exist yet, you're not under any real obligation to keep quiet."

Danny looked back at Mac, but his indecision showed no signs of slacking. If anything, he seemed even more agitated by it. Danny was at a loss, an absolute loss, and getting more lost by the minute. Mac was skeptical that Danny would just up and straight-out speak of the situation any time soon. But Mac felt he had enough to go on for a little prodding. If the Quinns were involved, then it was more than just a matter of legal pressure holding Danny back. More than likely it was someone's life at stake.

It would explain the fear Mac saw in Danny's gaze.

" So there's some legal action being taken... for or against the Quinns? And your father is somehow involved?"

That got Danny to look at Mac. He swallowed tightly. " Um, against. It's the Feds, they're going after the Quinns, trying to get enough evidence against them. They want my dad to take the stand and testify, but he won't. He knows better, you know? You don't go up against a Quinn and live..." he trailed off and averted his gaze for a moment to collect himself, then moved it back. " Mac, I really don't know what I should be telling you here. There's a legal issue involved, yeah... but there's also the Quinns... and other people I know sure as hell I can't tell you about. There's... there's too much at risk, you know? Too much that could happen. If these people found out I was talking to you..." he stopped, and closed his eyes, realizing what he had just said and what it entailed.

Up until now, Mac had been reserving judgment, and in so doing reserving reaction. Now, with what Danny had just said, in a voice lined by the same dread betrayed in his features, Mac felt it a good enough time to react.

" Danny, look at me."

Danny opened his eyes.

" Have threats been made against you?" Mac asked.

" They're always implied," Danny murmured.

Mac lined his brow in confusion. " What do you mean 'implied'?"

" If there are threats being made... they're never made out loud. Listen, Mac, it's not really like that. It's just... it's kind of precarious right now. My dad ... he's not going to talk. The Feds are pissed about it, and because they're pissed, my dad's going to jail. Talk or prison, that's their deal."

Now Mac was shocked. " Danny, that's not a deal, it's blackmail."

" It is a deal, they... know things..." He trailed off, and the expression of being at a loss returned.

It was painfully obvious to Mac that Danny wanted to talk about this, and that his desire to get it off his chest and his need to be cautious were battling it out, screwing up his concentration so that he couldn't choose his words carefully. Mac didn't know all that much about Danny's family in terms of its intricacies, and definitely not in terms of dark secrets. Danny had nothing but good things to say about his father, happy stories based on happy memories. Danny wasn't one of those caught up in the somewhat cliché, not-on-speaking-terms father/son conflicts. He and his dad got along, and Mac didn't have to see it to believe it.

" What things?"

" Things, I don't know, it doesn't matter. What matters is anything having to do with the Quinns. I can't be involved."

Mac's attention was suddenly drawn to the bruises on Danny's face, the fear he was failing miserably at trying not to show, and what he had said about 'implied threats'. It all came together to tell Mac what Danny was trying _not_ to say.

This matter with the Quinns wasn't about legal red tape, it was about safety. If Danny's dad had something on the Quinns, they wouldn't go after him head-on to keep him quiet, they would go after Danny.

Realizing this made Mac sick, as well as furious.

" Danny, explain to me again about these 'implied threats'. You say they weren't made out loud. So, I'm guessing they might be something a little more physical?"

Danny was looking away again, sitting absolutely still, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed. Mac had hit beyond just a single nerve. He was weaning the truth out of Danny whether he liked it or not. Danny was aware of this, but whether he would fight it by dropping the subject or just go along would soon be determined.

" It means..." he began, " if something happens, there's no one to pin it on. It's a power thing. They can get away with it. They're in control... no one else."

Danny was still holding back, saying nothing outright, yet saying what he needed to, even if it wasn't what he wanted Mac to hear.

" What about protection?"

" You mean witness protection? That doesn't work, Mac. Not with these people. You should know that."

" It might not have always been the Quinns behind those deaths."

Danny shook his head. " It doesn't Matter, Mac. My dad isn't going to talk."

There were things Danny wasn't telling Mac, but if those things were centered around his dad, then Mac would never hear about them. Curiosity, even wariness, was a nagging presence in the back of Mac's mind. He wanted to ask about Danny's dad, what he did, what Danny's family was like. He wanted to know, plain and simple, about Danny's background.

But as Danny had said, it didn't matter. Not at the immediate moment.

Danny looked back at Mac. " Listen, Mac, about this case... If the Quinns aren't the ones we're looking for, then I can help. But if they are, then I'm out."

Mac inclined his head. " I understand."

They fell into a stifling silence, Danny starting up another round of clenching and unclenching his fingers

" You should have come to me sooner," Mac said.

" I didn't want to get you involved."

" Danny, if someone is doing something to you, then that's not your decision to make."

" Yes it is."

" Danny..."

Danny shook his head, and Mac didn't like the look of finality forming in Danny's gaze. " You shouldn't be involved, Mac. It's too dangerous for you, the team, me, and my dad. There's no way to trust the situation, anything could happen, and I'm not going to put anyone at risk. It's not fair and it's not right."

" What's not _fair_, Danny, is that you think you have to do this alone. Your life's being threatened and your father's going to prison for that same reason. Am I correct to assume this?"

Danny didn't say anything, just cast his eyes to the floor.

" I'm taking that as a yes. So what's also not _fair_ is that these people, these Quinns, have absolute control over both your lives. You need the help, Danny, and if I offer it to you then you should take it. And I am. I'll help any way I can."

Danny snapped his gaze back at Mac. Now he really was scared, not to mention guilt-ridden.

" Mac..."

" My decision Danny."

" But the Quinns never even leave any evidence..."

" They're human, and humans make mistakes."

Danny wanted to say something else, and was about to when Mac purposefully hardened his gaze with his own finality.

It worked. Danny slumped back into his chair. Mac was sorry to see that he looked worn out, defeated, uncertain whether to be grateful or worried. Danny had just been looking out for Mac and the team, but like with Mac, if the rest of the team wanted to do something – considering if something could be done – then they had the right to choose as well.

When Mac was certain of his hard-earned victory, he relaxed, softening his expression. " You're off the Gerrard case, Danny. But I won't send you home, not yet. When you're ready to, I'll have Flack take you. There's other cases – light ones – that need some attention if you're up to it. If not then you can take some personal leave. Whatever you decide, it would be best that where ever you went you didn't go alone."

Mac wasn't sure if Danny was listening until he nodded.

" I think I'd rather go home now," he said. " They... they know when... I get off work. That's when... but, you know, not always... when they like to do things. Not all the time though, like I said."

" Yeah, sure Danny."

" I need to tell Lindsey."

" You find her. I'll contact Flack. I'll need to talk with him first."

Danny nodded then rose stiffly from the chair. When he walked out of the room, it was with a slower gait than normal. Once out the door, Mac pulled out his cell and dialed Flack's number.

The detective was heading to the building and said would be there in five minutes.

With that taken care of, Mac was about to put his cell back into his pocket, then paused. He stared at his phone for a moment before dialing another number.

Frustrating as it was, Danny had every right to refuse the details of the situation. His fears were legitimate, so Mac understood his need for caution. There were other ways of finding out the unsaid portions of the conversation – such as who those were leading the investigation and prosecution against the Quinns.

A pleasant female voice sounded on the receiving end of Mac's call.

" District Attorney's office..."

CSINY

When Danny turned the corner away from Mac's office, he leaned against the wall. A dull, thudding ache was pulsating in his head and felt as though it were trying to expand to break from his skull. It had began its existence this morning at the base, small enough to be alleviated temporarily by rolling his neck until the muscles stretched and the vertebrae popped. Then came the restaurant, and his remembrance of it ignited the annoying little pain into a full-blown ache.

_How many times did pop drag me to Cassio's because he had to meet people there? And in all that time I never memorized the freakin' street?_ Of course, at the time, he'd been too busy brooding to pay attention to anything else.

Danny closed his eyes. His body felt as though gravity were focusing all its efforts on him. Needless to say, he was tired. The shock of seeing Cassio's and having to talk to Mac about everything had actually worn him out.

_That can't be good._ He'd been feeling tired a little too much lately. Adding to that was an increase of aches in his joints, especially on his right side.

_That really can't be good._

He admitted that he was scared, not about the obvious protesting of his body to all this stress, but to the cause of his stress continuing to escalate. However, he couldn't quite decide if what had just occurred – coming to the restaurant then being forced to talk to Mac – was a good development or bad. _If _the Quinns, or a Quinn, were involved in Gerrard's death, that could be the black mark needed to put a few of them away. Maybe even enough to put them _all_ away without Calvin's testimony and evidence.

However, Jack was going to be pissed once CSIs began poking around his pop's restaurant, and the one he was going to be be pissed at was Danny. That, in itself, heralded a bad development.

_Nothing I'm not already used to, though._ Still, since Jack was already pushing the limit, he might decide to push a little more. Self-control had never been a virtue with Jack. The man was good at hiding his bad deeds and abuse, but barely whenever he nearly crossed the line.

Then there was Mac and the team. Danny couldn't say in exactness how since he wasn't sure how Mac and the others could help - but it was very likely that their involvement, if it got deep enough, could land them in some very hot water, either in terms of their careers or even with the Quinns. Danny was pretty certain that the Quinns weren't too shy about killing a cop or two if the need arose.

But Danny wasn't going make the mistake – again – of not trusting Mac. Mac wasn't stupid. He knew what he was getting into, so Danny trusted that he knew how it should be handled.

It didn't stop the fear of possible negative consequences, though. As Danny had told Mac, there was no trusting the situation.

Danny sighed and shuddered, then winced when a door was shut and the throb felt more like an explosion.

_Man I don't feel good. _He wanted to go home, even if it wasn't entirely the safest place to be right now. He could stay at work, but didn't want to be hassled by redundant questions about why he was crashing on the break-room couch and whether or not he felt all right. He pushed himself off the wall and forced his body to move in search of Lindsey. He passed Stella, of all people, and did another wince when she noticed him in return and began to slow.

" Danny?"

" Can't talk right now, Stell," he said quickly as he kept walking, trying to sound both casual but rushed, while inwardly cringing. He couldn't think straight enough to talk to Stella. Now still wasn't the time.

_I already did enough talking today,_ he thought miserably.

CSINY

A/N: So, happy now? Danny finally, reluctantly, told, and Mac knows. But will it help... or hinder? (suspenseful music ensues, loud and annoying.)


	15. Ch 14

A/N: I apologize most psychotically and profusely for taking my sweet time about updating. I was having a little trouble with this chapter and it took a while to clear everything up. The thing is, chapters may still be slow in coming. I've had to do some refining of the outline, including adding some stuff, so it's getting rather tricky. But not to worry, it's because I'm nearing the good stuff and preparing for it that I'm being so slow.

Ch. 14

" So remember, if they ask, we never heard of a guy named Danny Messer," Flack said as he let Lindsey – her kit in one hand - lead the way to the back of Cassio's via a wide alley.

Lindsey looked at the tall detective and raised her eyebrows incredulously. " Do you really think they'd believe that? From what you told me, it sounds like these people know everything there is to know about Danny. Plus I'm fairly certain that _someone _spotted him and me coming this way."

" Probably. But it's a lot safer than saying right off the bat who fingered this place, especially if we find something." Flack then grinned. " No harm in playing a little pretend. Our boy's going through enough crap."

Lindsey twisted her mouth in a small grimace. " It was so weird the way he reacted. It scared the crap out of me. I mean I thought he was being delirious. These people are really after him?"

Flack sucked air through his teeth. " Weeellll, um, Mac was kind of sketchy about the details. Like I told you, it's mostly all a legal thing. Authorities are out to get these Quinn guys, and since someone in Danny's family is involved, he's involved. Mac said there was a possibility that Danny might be targeted for some bad stuff, but nothing really life-threatening. I don't know, Mac wouldn't go into it, he just wanted me aware of the situation, _and_ you if these guys are the ones we want. Hope they're the ones we want."

" Don't hold your breath."

They were fortunate enough to have scrounged up a warrant that at least allowed them a peek at the delivery vehicles the restaurant used. After taking Danny back to speak with Mac, Lindsey had returned with Hawkes to check out the menus and talk to the maitre'd. Lindsey, to her amusement, had ended up using Danny's wedding reception tactic to get the head waiter to talk, and talk he did. The man had launched into a full-blown brag about how both fresh and safe their food was. They had their own warehouse where food was kept, and employed their own trucks so they could keep a personal eye on the delivery process without the hassle of trying to find the right delivery service. It was why Cassio's was so popular (as well as psychotically expensive, but like the maitre'd was going to say that. The menus had said enough.)

Lindsey still didn't know how a warrant was managed. They were going mostly by here-say, and the only real evidence they had was the sea-food found on the vic and a menu mentioning the very fish she and Danny had processed. Flack had said that the judge who had issued the warrant tended to be on the lenient side. Since they were only going in to check out the trucks – which didn't require a scene to be made and a complaint to be lodged later on by the establishment's owner – the judge found no reason to hold back a warrant. Even if nothing was uncovered, no harm no foul.

" I'm thinkin' judge Halley knows about this whole 'Feds goin' after the Quinns' thing. That's why he signed the warrant," Flack said as though snatching a peek at Lindsey's thoughts. Either that, or he was still trying to fathom it himself. Flack might have been aware of the judge's open-mindedness, but that didn't mean he always understood it.

" Makes sense, actually," Lindsey replied. " I'm surprised that we weren't told to hand this case over to the FBI."

Flack kicked a can that went skittering down the alley. They could hear shouts and the rumble of trucks resounding down the wide back-street. It was like stepping into another world, or in the case of New York another part of town. They had gone from ritzy to blue-collar just by walking between a couple of buildings. A truck began backing out from between where Cassio's ended and a fence began. The truck turned so the back end was facing Flack and Lindsey, then pulled forward to exit out the other end of the alley.

" Hope that's not the one we wanted," Flack said. " And the Feds wouldn't take over our case. We don't have anything to connect the Quinns to Gerrard's death."

" True."

They angled toward the driveway the ruck had just pulled out of, and entered a small delivery yard. On the right were more trucks parked in an angled row, one of which had its back-end open and people going in and out with dollies, hefting then wheeling crates and boxes from the truck to the restaurant.

" Well," Flack said when he and Lindsey stopped to study the trucks. " Have fun. I'll be standing guard, waiting to flash the warrant in case anyone gets nosy, mouthy, or more likely both."

Lindsey smirked. " Or we could just keep playing pretend and say we're from the health department. That should get people to back off pretty quick."

Flack chuckled. " Maybe I'll try it, see what works better."

Lindsey moved off to the right and the nearest truck. She doubled over and stayed like that as she moved along the row slowly while scrutinizing the tires. To some, it might have seemed like a long shot for her to find anything incriminating, and she was inclined to agree. However, she did have one advantage. The shipping yard wasn't paved, it was all dirt, and junkyards tended to be the same way. Even packed dirt still found its way in tread, and with a city that was mostly cement and concrete, there wouldn't be too many vehicles with dirt in the tires.

The second long shot was one of these particular trucks having dirt stuck in the tread.

" Hey, lady. You need help with something?"

Lindsey looked up at the man wearing a heavy jean coat and black cap, rocking the empty dolley he was pushing up the ramp. Lindsey just smiled at him.

" Just inspecting."

" You from some truck inspection company or something?"

Lindsey continued to smile. " Maybe."

The man sniffed, then nodded. " Well, I can tell you now, we keep these trucks maintained. It'd be our ass on the line if we didn't"

" Glad you're keeping that in mind. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm checking for visible tire damage."

The man nodded stiffly, then continued on into the truck.

Lindsey was starting to understand the pleasure Danny must get from being manipulative. She continued on with her 'inspection', moving around to the front of the trucks. She paused before the truck three trucks in, and crouched by the left-hand tire, setting her kit next to her feet. Her lips gradually turned up in another grin.

" Now this looks promising."

A foot-length of dirt was packed in two treads of the tire. " So how does a truck that only drives on paved roads attract so much mud?" She opened her kit and pulled out a scalpel and a circle of paper. She scraped the dirt from the tread where it landed on the paper in a thumb-nail sized pile. She then folded the paper in half, pulled out a small envelope, and dumped the dirt inside. She did the same to the second tread, getting as many samples as she could. When she was done, she closed up her kit and finished her perusal of the tires just to make sure.

On reappearing from around the last truck and approaching Flack, she couldn't hold back another grin.

" By that look alone you don't have to say it," Flack said. " You found something."

" Possibly, and I mean very possibly. I just need to do a little chemistry magic, then we'll see. I will say this much, though. One of those trucks didn't go its regular route."

CSINY

Mac kept to the side of the steps leading up to the Federal Court House with his hands hidden in the pockets of his coat to keep his fingertips from going numb. The lingering cloud of his breath kept veiling his view of the doors, which was an annoyance but not a hindrance. The person he was waiting for would be the one doing the searching out, not Mac. Still, Mac had never been partial to being taken by surprise.

The right phone calls to the right people had brought him to this place in this moment in time. His knowledge of the case against the Quinns wasn't as thorough as it probably should have been, but had been enough to put him in a quandary.

Lindsey's discovery of oil-ladened dirt in the tread of a Quinn-owned truck had officially put the Quinns on the department's radar. If the Quinns did have anything to do with Gerrard's death, then that meant one more case for the Feds to use against the family.

It was all still circumstantial, but according to protocol the people heading the Quinn prosecution needed to be privy to the information. However, because it was still circumstantial, Mac still had the authority to withhold the info if he felt like it, and he was leaning toward feeling like it. Chances were, the FBI would want to take over the Gerrard case, and Mac didn't quite feel like handing it over.

Plus, There was the possibility of using the case to help Danny in his situation with his father.

It wasn't really in Mac's nature to go against protocol, but considering that lives might be at stake, Mac found himself ready to bend a few rules if necessary. But only if necessary, when an alternative could not be found.

" Detective Taylor?"

Mac looked up to see Agent Stevenson heading down the concrete steps of the building, his own breath clouding his face.

" Agent Stevenson," Mac said. The agent stopped in front of Mac.

" Couldn't keep his mouth shut, could he?" Stevenson said.

Annoyance buzzed through Mac's nerves, and he shifted. " If we're talking about Danny Messer, I would have to disagree. He did a pretty damn good job of not saying what he wasn't supposed to. I filled in the blanks myself."

Stevenson's face was unreadable. " Why?"

Mac wasn't ready to go into details, and his reluctance increased. " Because one of my CSIs is being put through hell and I wanted to know why. I also want to know why I wasn't informed about this trial. Yes, Danny's involvement is minimal, but that doesn't set aside the fact that as is supervisor I needed to be aware of the situation should cases involving any of the accused or witnesses pops up so that Danny can be removed from those cases."

" Detective Taylor," Stevenson began. " Danny wasn't even supposed to know. You said his involvement is minimal – well, it's supposed to be non-existent. You can thank his father for pulling him in..."

At this, annoyance began wreaking havoc through Mac. He had to avert his gaze to the ground and regather his composure before speaking again.

" Agent Stevenson," and he looked back up at the agent, " I've worked cases where a Quinn was suspect. I know what they're like. I know what Danny's father did was done in an act to protect his son. I know that the Quinns are probably going to use – or are even now using – Danny as a bargaining chip to keep his father quiet. I really shouldn't have to be telling you this, and it disturbs me that I am. I know you know the danger Danny is in, and the fact that the only protection you offered was witness protection isn't exactly sitting well with me."

Stevenson sniffed. " Messer made his choice, and so did his dad."

" And so you left it at that? Witness protection or nothing?"

Stevenson shrugged. " Danny Messer's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

Mac's anger was inevitable, and difficult to stem. He took a step closer to the agent, staring him right in the eyes. Stevenson seemed to find it amusing, and a small smile twitched the corner of his lips.

" Agent Stevenson," Mac said flatly, " I sincerely _hope _you were making a joke. Not that long ago, Danny was nearly killed in a hit and run, spent a month in the hospital because of infection, and is still in the process of recovery, so he's not exactly _up_ to having to defend himself against people who know how not to be caught. And even healthy he still shouldn't have to. And I find it surprising that you would be naïve enough to think that Danny's father wouldn't warn him about what's going on. You seem to be unaware of quite a bit in this situation, agent Stevenson."

Stevenson frowned and glared at Mac. " I know what I need to know, and I'm doing what I can. What the hell is it you want from me anyways?"

" A little more consideration for your supposed witness and his son."

Stevenson let loose a bitter half-laugh. " Witness? The guy won't talk, he's refusing to take the stand. And for that reason, neither him or his family are my responsibility. He made his choice, they both did. Therefore, my hands are tied."

Mac debated on whether to mention the threat made against Calvin Messer – talk or jail. But Mac knew right off it would be a wasted breath. Stevenson would get pissed, blame Mac's knowledge of the blackmail on Danny, then just brush it aside like it was old news. Besides, Mac had what he needed – a decision. He was going to hold off on telling the Fed about Gerrard, just until more could be discovered and a more solid case could be formed against the Quinns; or at least one of the Quinns.

It would be Mac's own bargaining chip should things get really bad, or sooner.

" Anything else you wanted to ask or tell me about detective?" Stevenson said. " Because if not, I've got places to be."

Stevenson turned, about to leave.

" One question," Mac said. Stevenson stopped and turned.

" What?"

Mac knew he was taking a small risk, but instinct was pushing him and a gut feeling was telling him that it might be worth it. And he did, on occasion, placate to the needs of gut-feelings. " The name Gerrard sound familiar to you? We're working a case with a vic by that name."

Stevenson smirked. " Is that what happened to the little SOB? Rumor had it he got whacked. No surprise. The guy had a big mouth."

Mac narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. " You mean he was a snitch?"

" Sometimes – when he got something out of it. I wouldn't waste your time trying to find out who killed him. Guy's like him, they die taking all the answers to the grave. Everyone and their grandma wanted a piece of him."

" So I gathered," Mac murmured. " Did he ever rat to the Feds?"

" Yeah, and whoever else would listen. Like I said, he only opened his mouth when there was a profit in it." The agent then ended the conversation by turning his back and walking away.

Mac watched him go, content and even a little vindictive about with holding the Gerrard case from the agent. The man didn't deserve to know. Other agents, prosecutors – yes, but not Stevenson.

At least Mac had what he came for. If Gerrard had snitched on a Quinn, then his new residence at the morgue had been fated.

CSINY

A/N: (cringe) sorry for the lack of Danny in this chapter, and for it's shortness. He'll be in the next chapter, I promise. And further Danny abuse is forthcoming. Lots and lots of abuse. Be patient, pretty please?


	16. Ch 15

A/N: Finally, a new chapter, right? Everyone do the happy dance. Wait, no, don't, spare your dignity.

Also, I know my chapters are out of order, I don't know why. I'll have them straightened out some time after I finish this story, or maybe before. The fact is, I am aware, so please don't point it out.

Ch.15

It was wrong. No one should have to feel paranoid in their own home.

Danny, with his head tilted back and his neck curved perfectly with the contour of the couch padding, blinked back the moisture blurring his vision in an attempt to relieve eyes so dry that his eyelids actually – momentarily – stuck. He lifted his hands and dug the heel of both into both eyes, massaging in the moisture. On opening them, he squinted at the television screen and the show that had somewhere along the lines of time replaced the baseball game.

Danny rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, which is basically where he had had them for most of the game. It was a white ceiling, termed 'eggshell white' by a cousin who'd dropped by for an overnight stay a year back.

_Eggshell. Who the hell termed that? White's white. Why do people have to make it more complicated than that?_

Somewhere outside his door, within the hall, Danny heard a thump that made his heart jolt and his body flinch. It was followed by girlish laughter, and someone shutting a door.

Such noises were the reason Danny couldn't take the nap he desperately wanted. His head was throbbing to a heart-beat rhythm, and that throbbing was inciting his stomach to churn uncomfortably. Then there were the general aches all over the rest of him, especially his side.

There would be no going to sleep of any kind, Danny knew. Not since Quinn had such easy access to his place. A few minutes of catching a couple of Zs, and the moment Danny opened his eyes, he would be staring into Jack's face. If Jack or one of his cronies did decide to hone their breaking and entering skills, Danny wanted to be awake and ready for it. Even if they knocked on the door, he still wanted to be ready for it.

What he wanted even more was to sleep.

A loud explosive shout reverberated through the hallway outside, and Danny snapped his head up and around to the door. His heart started jack-hammering until he heard the follow-up shout coming from some irate female. Danny had completely forgotten about those particular neighbors, which was a fairly bad lapse on his part seeing as how he'd had to pound on their door to get them to shut up a few days back.

Danny's heart returned to its normal pace and he dropped his head back to its original position. He sighed, then closed his eyes, swearing to himself that he wasn't going to sleep, just resting his eyes.

He snapped them back open. Since when had that ever been true? His eyelids begged to differ, and with each blink it became harder and harder to keep them open. The shouting match out in the hall became garbled white noise that spliced with the images slogging through his brain.

" Shut up, whore!" something banged against the wall, shattering, and Danny's heart slammed so hard that it caused the breath to catch in his throat. He gasped, and his head shot up, twisting back around to glare at the door and the people on the other side.

" Get out!" the woman screamed. " Get the hell out now!"

Rolling his eyes, Danny dropped his head back and groaned.

" I can't take this," he whispered. The jolt had burned the sluggishness from his body, and he supposed now was as good a time as any to take advantage of it. He pushed himself from the couch and went to his closet, yanking out his coat and throwing it on as he headed for the door. With the weather being what it was, and immobility making even a warm room cold, Danny already had his socks and tennis shoes on. What he was doing was more than likely stupid, but if he remained inactive any longer he was going to shoot someone other than Jack and his buddies.

Danny slammed the door behind him and stalked off through the hall. Five doors down was the source of the fight, with the black haired young woman in the black tank-top and wearing a nose-stud throwing things at a long-haired man wearing a Nine Inch Nails T-shirt. The fights were a once a week deal, almost like clock-work, giving Danny the impression it was more for a show of intimidation to the rest of the apartment tenants than anything legit.

As far as Danny knew, he was the only one who ever confronted them, since as he approached the fighting died and the two stood there with gazes down. The woman leaned against the door frame, tapping her foot, and the man folded his arms across his chest. The sudden lack of ear-splitting noise helped to lessen the pounding in Danny's head, leaving enough discomfort for Danny to give the couple a cold, withering glare that actually made the man squirm.

" One of you better not be here when I get back," Danny snapped on passing. But the moment he entered the elevator, the shouting resumed.

CSINY

The air was unpleasant to breathe, heavy with gasoline, oil, and exhaust belched out on a daily bases from the vehicles utilized to manage the uncountable number of dead cars stacked throughout the yard. On any other day, the rumbling, bone vibrating noise would have been just as difficult to handle. But today, an unscheduled holiday had just cropped up, and the machines were silent.

Mac, surrounded by his team and a team of uniforms, dictated directions on how the junkyard search was to go. What they were looking for required an eagle eye and a methodical pace, especially where tire tracks were concerned. Chances were slim that all – if any – evidence remained intact; considering if this was the yard Gerrard was killed in to begin with. It was the only one near both the restaurant and the shipping yard, and since proximity had proven reliable thus far, Mac allowed himself a little hope.

" Since the death was execution style," Mac was saying, " chances are good that one of these car stacks will have our blood spatter."

_If that stack still exists._ But Mac didn't have to say it out loud. It was an obvious way to think. This was a junkyard, after all, and enough days had passed that what they were searching for might have already been smashed out of existence, or moved.

Mac gave everyone a direction to search, and with people pointed in their perspective direction, the search went underway.

" Seems a little cliché," Lindsey commented before starting off, kit in hand, " for Gerrard to be killed in a junk yard. Kind of one step away from giving him cement shoes and dumping him in a river."

Stella, snapping on gloves and picking up her kit, smirked. " Sometimes, some trends just never lose their popularity. With the weather being so cold, if there's any blood, it should still be well preserved."

Mac looked to the ground. " Too bad we can't say the same for tire tread."

They dispersed into the maze that was the car graveyard, CSIs carrying kits, and everyone carrying radios. A row was tagged as having already been checked through the use of bright orange flags tied to sticks and stabbed into the ground. There was no denying the length of time the search was going to take, but Mac had no intentions of calling a halt until the entire yard had been searched. And it was a good sized junk yard.

At one point, Mac and Stella came in semi-contact, with Stella one one side of a row of cars and Mac on the other.

" You talk to Danny today?" Stella asked. Mac caught glimpses of her face through gaps and windows.

" Flack went to check on him. Said he looked tired, but seemed fine. Have you talked to him?"

Stella replied, " Not really."

" Are you ever going to talk to him?"

He was met with silence. Leaning to the side, Mac peered through a cracked window. Stella was looking up and around.

" Stella?"

She snapped her head down. " What?"

" Is it just me, or are you avoiding Danny?"

Stella reared her head back, affronted. " What? No, I've been trying to talk with him for days. He's the one doing the avoidance dance."

Mac narrowed his eyes suspiciously, then continued on down the row. " Stella, you've been acting uncomfortable around him since he came back to work. Remember what we talked about? The mother henning situation?"

" What about it? And didn't we already have this conversation?"

Mac shook his head. " Not really. Today, it's something entirely different. Today, it's focused completely on why you haven't talked to Danny yet. Danny can't avoid you forever. You could call, visit him at his place. You could have cornered him, dropped in when he was working and had no reason to leave in a rush."

He heard Stella huff. " What, you accusing me of not trying hard enough?"

" Exactly."

" Wha...! But... Come on, Mac. You'd really think I'd do that?"

" Not intentionally, no. But something's apparently unresolved or you two wouldn't be walking on eggshells around each other. Every time you've encountered Danny – the times I've witnessed – you act like you're going to break him."

Stella coughed out a laugh. " Oh, yeah, break Danny," she sardonically replied. " I'm being careful around poor, fragile, Danny Messer. Look, I know the guy's in emotional hell right now, but it would still take a lot more than me saying to wrong thing to make him finally crack."

" _Physically_ break him, Stella, not mentally."

A scrape of dirt, followed by silence, and Mac knew he had struck something. After all, the notion of breaking Danny bodily seemed more far fetched than breaking him mentally."

" O – kay," was Stella's poor attempt at a nonchalant reply. " What makes you think that? And when did you become Mac Taylor, professional psychiatrist?"

Mac grinned. " Stella, how many years have we worked together? It's my job – _our _job – to be microscopically observant, down to the invisible pieces of evidence. This same observation we have to apply to people. And, over the years, it becomes second nature. It's not so much a fear of you hurting him, but of seeing him physically hurt again. "

" Well, yeah, it's not anything I would want to relive again."

" Seeing him reminds you of what happened."

They came to the end of the row, and Stella stepped around to lean her shoulder against the bent bumper of a smashed red Ford pick-up. She had her arms crossed in her usual poise of no-nonsense, her expression tight with tension, but her eyes spilling out nothing but worry.

" I still have dreams about it. Sometimes, they're horribly exact. Other times – Danny doesn't make it. So – yes – seeing him, sometimes, it's hard. I look at him and all these feelings of relief and terror starting duking it out. Now, if I'm acting like Danny's breakable... Well, I'm not doing it on purpose. But I was the one there when he almost died. I was the one forced to watch his life start draining out of him..." she threw one hand up, then leaned in slightly and lowered her voice to a whisper. " His blood was all over my clothes, Mac. I could _smell it_. I wanted to _puke_. But, thank goodness, I didn't. Not at that moment, but later, after reaching the hospital, I went straight to the bathroom and I vomited. So it's safe to say that all the mutilated bodies over the years haven't numbed me to everything. And, yeah, it is hard to look at Danny sometimes, and hard to talk to him. I _want_ to talk, I just don't know what to say. And even though he's alive and getting well, I'm still _terrified_ that it won't last. The first dream I can handle. The second..." she shook her head. " I don't want that one coming true."

" It won't."

Stella lifted her eyebrows. " Mac, can you honestly promise that, especially with all that crap you told me Danny's going through?"

She had him there, but Mac wasn't going to be deterred. " If we can help it, then yes. Do _you_ honestly think I'd let something like that happen? I definitely know you wouldn't. You really need to talk to Danny, Stella. It would do the both of you good."

Stella opened her mouth, about to reply, when the radio crackled to life and the young officer on the other end excitedly babbled about finding something. He was down a row toward the center of the yard where a fork lift was parked just outside. Everyone gathered around where the uniform was standing, pointing with a flag stick at the smashed remains of a blue car splashed with something dark on the rear door. The pattern of the spray was consistent with a bullet puncturing the back of a head, with the hole at the apex of the spatter and what Mac guessed to be small bits of brain matter.

Stella already had her kit open, pulling out a swab and wiping it against the stain. Mac moved in a little closer, studying the round puncture in the metal.

" It's blood," Stella announced. Mac pointed at the hole.

" Then our bullet should be in there."

Since the only tracks were those made by the fork-lift, Mac and team focused on the flattened vehicle before them. They pulled the rusty door open that screeched in protest, then brought in a saw and blow torch to remove the door entirely when it was made apparent that the bullet had not passed through to the other side. Several uniforms, with the help of Flack and Hawkes, carried the door from the yard to one of the awaiting vehicles. Mac, Stella, and Lindsey stayed behind to continue processing the rest of the scene.

Mac was crouched before his kit when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and put it to his ear.

" Taylor."

" Mac?"

The female voice was surprisingly familiar, the Brooklyn accent especially.

" Aiden?"

At this, Stella, carefully studying the dirt around the scene for any tracks not smashed by the fork-lift, looked up.

" Yeah, hey Mac. Listen, um... I just talked to Danny. Is – is he all right?"

CSINY

_This was a bad idea._

Danny was finding it next to impossible not to stare at the back of the cabby's head. People knew when they were being watched and the Hack was no exception. The man's eyes kept up a haphazard darting from the road to the rear view mirror even when they were stopped at a light. Danny tried to uphold a casual pose and a casual stare out the window as though absorbed in the buildings, street, and people, but his concentration was centered squarely on the cabby's head lingering out of the corner of his eyes.

It was a habit Danny had a hard time squashing, and played a large part in why he avoided cabs. The other part consisted mainly of placating his small phobia. Cabs were a necessity he tried to avoid when he could. The only thing that prevented the phobia from being all-consuming was the yellow color and lighted on-duty signs of a city-owned taxi.

Gypsy cabs – well, it was a fight to keep from spitting on those and cursing the driver to hell. Those he would forever avoid like the plague.

The driver of the present cab was polite enough to keep quiet about Danny's tense vigil, as well as quiet period. Maybe he wasn't a talker, or maybe he knew Danny wasn't in the mood to talk, there was no saying. Danny's muscles tended to go taunt, and his heart beat a little faster, every time he entered a cab. No doubt he was probably a mite pale because of it.

But Danny's wariness against cabs was nothing in comparison to how he was feeling about the subway.

_There goes another form of public transportation down the drain._

In all truth, Danny had harbored no intentions of using public transportation. Neither had he gone outside with a destination in mind. He just started walking, spiting the cold and the numerous aches in his body – especially his head. But walking, even in broad day light and with so many people out – made him feel exposed. Hailing a cab had been a split decision when thoughts of the subway made him shiver. Same went for his destination.

They were heading deep into Brooklyn down an apartment lined street with young trees and small patches of grass like mini-lawns. They were nice buildings, classic construction from the 1920s, even the more recently erected places keeping with the theme. The cab pulled up to the curb of a brick place, light in color to be almost white, a little more modern but not quite. It sported two stoops, and was the kind of place one had to buzz in to enter.

Danny paid the Hack and slipped from the cab. The effect was immediate, his muscles relaxed and his heart-rate went back to normal rhythms. He headed up the steps on the right and pressed one of the top-most switches.

" Hey Burn, it's Messer. You in?" he said into the speaker. Four seconds passed, and a buzzer sounded, followed by the click of a lock. Danny yanked the door open and stepped into the blissfully warm, white-walled interior that went to work on thawing him. He got cold too easily and too often lately. He stepped into the brass-door elevator across the way, and took it to the third floor.

Aiden's place was five doors down on the right, made apparent by the fact that the door was already open and Aiden was leaning with folded arms against the frame. Her hair, highlighted and curled at the end, was pulled back in a tail. She had on a gray sweat-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of faded jeans. Danny couldn't see her hands since they were hidden by her arms, but those same arms were smeared and splashed with a gray substance that Danny knew right off the bat was clay. Finding a new job had been quick and painless for Aiden thanks to Mac's assistance. Her days as a CSI were over, but her presence in the crime-scene world was not. She was a teacher now in the art of facial reconstruction and sketch artistry. It always paid off to have more than one talent, and art was Aiden's third passion – her second being science, her third aiding law enforcement. She had still maintained the best of all three.

" I'd of cleaned up, but you didn't leave me much time," Aiden said as Danny approached. He slowed, feeling suddenly intrusive. Aiden's brown eyes went to Danny's sling, and she removed a clay-caked hand from its position against her side to gesture at it.

" Still haven't gotten that off?"

Danny stopped four feet from her door. His decision to visit Aiden had stemmed from a desire for a place to be, a place that was far enough away from his own. That same desire had numbed him to everything else except to satiate that desire. But now that he was here, he didn't feel right about it. He had no desire to talk, which was something he had not taken into consideration on heading over to Aiden's.

Danny, shrugging, took a hesitant step back. " Doctor's playing it safe. Listen, if I'm imposing or anything..."

Aiden arched an eyebrow, then straightened and unfolded her arms. " No, no, not at all. I was just – you know – being messily creative," she said with a small smile. She then twitched her head sideways toward the door. " Come on in. I might look like hell, but my place is still pretty decent."

Danny, still reluctant, followed her inside. They went down a short hallway that opened up into a large living room on the right, the kitchen on the left, and another small hallway where the bedroom and bathroom were. Aiden had newspaper covering the floor and a small table on top of that. The lump of clay on that table was already in the general shape of a head, just without the features. Behind that lump was a human skull.

" It's not real," she said. " Just something to go by, you know? So what brings you by?"

Danny, glancing around, did another half-hearted shrug. " I was out, about, thought I'd take advantage of it and visit a few friends. But everyone else is at work, and since this was one of your days off, that made you the only friend to visit."

Aiden smiled and headed into the kitchen. She flipped on the faucet, running the water over her hands that she thickly lathered with soap. Gray clay and white foam swirled around the bottom of the sink into the drain.

" So why aren't you at work? Stella called me a few days back, said you started up again."

Danny's chest tightened, and he swallowed hard. " Um, I haven't been feelin' too good lately."

Aiden flipped the water from her hands. Her eyes roved over Danny's face, then the rest of him, her gaze stern with concentration as she assessed what she was seeing.

" You don't look too good." She grabbed a striped wash-cloth from off the black fake-marble counter and dried her hands, then paused, squinting in concern. " You're not having a relapse, are you?"

" I've been takin' the meds so I shouldn't be. Might be something else." _Like stress, crap loads of stress._ Telling Mac about his situation had been an unforeseen necessity, as was the rest of the team having to learn about it. With Aiden, telling would be a heart to heart, confidentiality between friends, and an unburdening of the soul. Problem was, Danny had no intentions of saying anything of the situation to her. He refused to do that to her, to bring her in, to give her something to mull over in worry. During Danny's stint in the hospital, Aiden had been ready to hunt down the SOB that had hit him and pound him into next week.

She would have done it too, except that she wasn't a CSI anymore, so didn't have the means to do the tracking.

Knowing what was going on now would piss her off. Yet friendship tended to frown upon one friend keeping secrets from another. If she ever found out that he was holding something back, she would be even more pissed.

Danny's question was; did she need to know, have a right to know, or was better off not knowing?

_Better off. She'd be better off. _

_I knew this was a bad idea._

" Well, you'd better not be contagious," Aiden said, tossing the rag down. " Want something to drink?"

Danny nodded. Aiden opened a top cupboard and pulled out two glasses, setting one on the counter and holding the other. " I've got grape-juice, orange juice, beer, milk, and water."

" Water," Danny said. He was a little thirsty, but not up for anything sweet. She filled the glass from the tap and stretched her arm over the counter to hand it to Danny. She then pointed at the three stools lining the other side of the counter.

" Sit," she commanded. But Danny shook his head.

" I'd better not or I won't get up again. I wasn't planning on staying long."

Aiden leaned with folded arms on the counter, smirking slightly. " Why? Got other friends with today off? Come on, Danny, you look beat. Hell, you look exhausted. Take a load off. It's not like I put glue on the seat or anything. I didn't even know you were coming until you buzzed me."

Danny took a sip of water, but continued his refusal to comply. Appearance wise he might have seemed worn out, but inside he felt too anxious and wired for any sitting. Instead he began roving the living room, looking it over. Posters of well-known paintings added color to the plain white walls, and numerous green plants put a little extra warmth to the place. Danny wandered over to the wall shelves holding framed photos of Aiden's family, her parents, her brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and some that might have been cousins.

" Your families close, right?" Danny asked.

" Pretty much."

" Extended too?"

" Yeah."

_Wow, that must be nice having relatives you know for a fact don't hate your guts and want to stab you in the back._ But like Danny was going to say that thought out loud.

On another shelf was a picture taken when Aiden was a CSI and needed to use up film so that the photos of one crime scene didn't get mixed with the photos from another scene. It was a picture of everyone in the break room (Lindsey not included, of course), a scene of every day life. Stella was sitting at a table in the middle of saying something and gesturing, Mac was across from her, Hawkes adjacent, Flack standing behind Hawkes, and Danny himself leaning back against the counter with a cup of something in his hand.

Danny had asked Aiden once if she missed working at the lab. More than once, actually, with her response each time being a non-committal shrug. When she finally answered a nonchalant 'yeah', Danny had stopped asking. That she never became annoyed by the question, and her hesitation before the reply, had always been Danny's real answer. She did miss it, but wasn't going to invest in any emotional sentimentality over it. What was done was done. If she was pissed at herself for getting fired, Danny didn't know. One thing he did know was that Aiden's only regret was not catching the SOB who had raped her friend twice. Emotion wise, it was the only one she expressed more outwardly concerning the loss of her job.

Danny found it obnoxiously ironic how Aiden gets the pink slip for opening a packet containing a single hair, but Agent Stevenson was pulling an all out blackmailing tactic and getting away with it.

A crawling sensation prickled along Danny's spine. Association brought Danny's train of thought from Stevenson to Jack, and Jack's skill at planting the right crony at the right spot, during the right time, to wreak a little havoc. In turn, the thought that Jack might be having Danny followed made Danny's insides shrivel. But there was no real proof of it. Most of the attacks always happened to or from work, and it wasn't like Danny's place of work was hard to find.

Still...

" Hey Danny?"

Danny felt a hand land on his shoulder. He jumped, dropping the glass that was spared from shattering thanks to the beige rug, which quickly absorbed the water.

" Ah son of a... ! I am so freakin' sorry Aid..." He immediately crouched to pick up the glass which incited a riot of discomfort in his side.

" It's okay, Danny, I got it," Aiden said, crouching faster than Danny and grabbing the glass before he could. While rising, she took his arm and helped him to straighten back up. She looked him in the face, doing another contemplative scrutiny that made her brow furrow. She also seemed reluctant to let go of his arm, as though if she did then Danny would go dropping to the ground like a sack of rocks. When she did finally release him to take the glass to the sink, Danny felt her eyes remaining fixed on him. The stare felt penetrating, immobilizing, and Danny found that the mere thought of turning around to look at her uncomfortable. He felt like an idiot spooking like that, and even more of an idiot for getting her carpet wet.

Aiden came back with another wash cloth, dropping it on the spill then stepping on it to stomp up the water. Danny returned his own gaze to the pictures without really seeing them.

" Sorry," he said again, shoving his one hand into his pocket.

He felt a touch on his arm, and flinched again. The touch became a firm grip as Aiden pulled Danny away from the pictures, then turned him around to face her.

" You'd better not look away," Aiden said, putting her hand on his forehead. " You feel warm."

Danny narrowed his eyes at her. " What are you, my mother? I already told you I wasn't feeling good?"

Aiden gave him a light pat – like a mock slap – on the cheek and flashed a brief smirk. " Yeah, well, you didn't say how bad and I wanted to make sure you weren't feverish to the delusional point." The grin had become a thoughtful frown. " Seriously, Messer, you all right? The fact that you're acting a little jumpy... it's kind of making me nervous. The Danny Messer I'm used to doesn't do jumpy. Remember that rig I set up that Halloween, the one that had the snake pop out of your desk drawer? You remember how you reacted? It jumped, and without even looking at it you grabbed it and tossed it over your shoulder. Same with the fake spider. You normally don't spook that easy, Messer. So either your fever's running high or... what? something goin' on with you?"

Bile shot searing into Danny's throat, only to go searing back down when he swallowed it.

_Bad idea, really bad idea._ His need to be anywhere but home had actually clouded his thinking. He couldn't tell Aiden what was going on, and he shouldn't have come, not if there was a possibility that Jack was having Danny followed. It was paranoid thinking, but paranoia was more like caution when it came to Jack.

But Danny might also be overreacting.

_Better safe than sorry, right?_

" I gotta go," Danny blurted, and without giving Aiden the chance to respond, stepped around her and walked swiftly to the door.

" Danny!" Aiden called. Danny cringed on shutting the door behind him, and picked up his pace on heading to the elevator. He felt sick enough to puke, mostly because he had no idea what he was doing. He still refused to go home, but his destination options felt suddenly slim, especially if there was a chance he was being tailed.

Once outside he began moving up the block. Direction wasn't important, only moving, and moving fast, glancing periodically over his shoulder. His lack of attention to where he was heading made time slip by more quickly. He left the neighborhood and entered a market street smelling of smoke, fried foods, gas, and something slightly foul. He passed a butcher shop with naked chickens hanging by their feet in the window, a small Chinese Restaurant, a fast food joint, food mart, book shop, novelty store, small clothing store, and even more businesses dealing in food. The sidewalks were full but not packed, and the traffic flowed freely without horns blaring and cars inching along.

The cold was leaking through Danny's coat, clothes, and skin. His muscles pulled tight until he started shivering, and the arctic air rubbed his throat and lungs raw. It was time to face the inevitable and hail another cab.

He hadn't even turned his head to look at the street when an arm dropped itself across the back of his neck. Danny faltered in alarm and tried to stop, but the owner of the arm kept moving, pulling Danny along.

" Hey Danny."

Danny didn't even turn. He could see Jack just fine out of the corner of his eye.

" How'd you find me?" Danny spat.

" What, you think you CSIs are the only ones who know how to dig up info? Deduction, pal. Someone saw you leave, so we thought to ourselves 'where would Danny Messer go this time of day when he's not working? Oh, how about to his pal Aiden Burn's place!' You think we don't know about her, Messer? We knew where to look, and waited. You can't really catch a cab in a residential area unless you call first." The arm around Danny's neck tightened ever so slightly.

" We?" Danny asked, trying to turn his head, when Jack jerked him.

" Keep looking forward, Messer. Pretend we're playing follow the leader."

Danny's heart, which had begun to gradually pick up speed, started hammering when Jack steered Danny down a side-street between to buildings. Numerous footfalls echoed close behind. Danny was steered again to the left into an alley where two massive trash bins sat. It was quite the secluded area, where the city sounds were became distant reverberations, and where Danny was pretty certain no one would be able to hear anything should any noise be made.

" And here we are," Jack announced. He slid his arm from Danny's neck and stepped back. Five other men, including that junky Al, flanked Jack on each side as they walled Danny in. Their movements were deliberate, like prowling, grinning hyenas. They had Danny cornered, literally backed into a wall. His eyes passed from one to the other, his expression as loathing as he could get it. Inside, his hammering heart was making it hard to breathe, and his shivering was from more than just the cold.

" Danny," Jack, said, folding his hands before him, " we need to talk."

SGA

A/N: I apologize for the cliff-hanger. But, hey, they happen. Things are about to get a little messy and a little fast. We're nearing the end. Savage Danny abuse is nigh at hand.


	17. Ch 16

Ch. 16

" Voice mail again," Stella said. She dropped her cell back into her coat pocket. " Time to worry yet?"

Mac glanced at Stella. " He could be back home, sleeping. Aiden said she thought he looked tired."

Stella dropped her head back against the seat rest. " What was he even doing there?"

" Cabin fever comes to mind," Mac replied, craning his neck when traffic slowed, searching out the source of the potential lay-up. A methodical pace didn't mean a traffic jam was forthcoming, but Mac was ready to flip on the flashing lights if it came down to it. The situation really didn't call for such a measure, but Mac felt he didn't have the patience to sit through a jam.

Stella's head shot up and around. She was glaring at Mac, something only she ever had the tenacity to do. " You know, I may be reading your tone wrong, but it sounds to me like you're not even the tiniest bit worried."

A space opened up beside Mac, and he move into it, passing five cars hindered by a sixth rusted out vehicle barely moving at a crawl.

" You are," Mac said. " I am worried. But I'm not going to jump to any conclusions because of it. You know Danny. You know he's not the kind who likes sitting still for too long, especially if something's going on. Going to Aiden's was probably in an act to unwind, get some air."

Mac did another glance at Stella, who had gone back to staring at him, this time incredulously.

" And that doesn't sound – oh, I don't know – dangerous to you? Didn't you say there was a possibility that these people we're now investigating might try and do something to him? Again, I may be reading into things wrong, but you sounded pretty nervous when you told me about it, and nervous isn't one of your regularly expressed emotions Mac."

Mac took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Stella's rise in agitation wasn't unexpected. She'd been on the verge of absolute fear since...

_Since Danny got hit by a car. _Stella wasn't normally a pessimistic person, but if anyone had a right to be paranoid right now, it was her. It didn't matter how thick the mental armor someone put on, everyone had a breaking point. And Stella had more than even she realized. As hard as she wanted to be on the outside, that shell couldn't hold back the soft heart she harbored on the inside.

" They won't kill him," Mac said. " They wouldn't be that stupid."

" What about accidentally?" Stella countered. " What if they go too far, or Danny fights back? A couple of hard punches to the ribs," Stella snapped her fingers, " and that's it, he's dead."

Mac said nothing to that. Stella had a point. Maybe an exaggerated point, but an exaggeration not worth taking a chance on. A punctured lung was what nearly did Danny in – twice. First nearly drowning him in blood, second nearly drowning him in fluid. Not something someone would want to go through a second time around.

Stella pulled her phone back out and redialed Danny's number. She placed it to her ear and kept it there until voice mail picked up, signified by Stella doing another redial.

Mac knew better than to outwardly react. Visual displays of panic did no one any good, especially not those already upset enough as it was. But inside, Mac felt his tempered concern shift toward full-on worry. Even asleep, Danny would get annoyed enough with the chirp of his cell to answer it. Patience wasn't always a virtue with Danny.

" When we get back to the lab," Mac said, " I'll send Don over to Danny's place, see if he's there. If he is, Flack can chew him out for us."

" And if he's not?" Stella asked.

" Then you get to see me nervous all over again."

CSINY

Danny's phone started ringing, and he didn't know whether to call the timing impeccable or ironic. He kept his hands hanging loosely at his sides though his fingers twitched to answer the cell out of habit.

Jack, smirking, shook his head. " Don't even think about it, Messer."

Danny put his free hand behind himself against his lower spine and leaned with his back against the wall. " You're a stereotype, you know that Jack? Even what you say's too freakin' predictable. So what do you want to talk about?"

Jack turned his head to mumble something incoherent to a few of his cronies. Three men pulled themselves from the circle walling Danny in and dispersed down the alleys, leaving only the junky Al and some guy with a black goatee. Danny watched the three go. He tried to keep his posture casual but felt tensed up enough for his backbone to snap.

Jack had sent the three to go play watchmen, to redirect anyone who happened to wander down the side street to where Jack was having his conference. The connotations of this wreaked havoc with Danny's pretense of indifference. Not that there was any reason to keep up the pretense to begin with. Jack wasn't stupid, and Danny wasn't naïve. Danny's unease was increasing, and Jack knew it. He was like a wolf scenting fear, but Danny hadn't reached the point of being afraid yet. Jack wasn't about to do anything that would give one Calvin Messer second thoughts concerning a certain piece of damning evidence.

But Jack knew how to hurt without leaving a mark. And for him to send out a few of his boys to keep watch meant that he had something along the lines of hurt in good mind.

When the three were out of sight, Jack began to pace in short strides, turning on his heels after three steps. Goatee was statue still with his hands clasped before him and wearing no apparent expression. Al seemed to attempt to follow suit, but his jerking leg wouldn't cooperate. Danny held no doubts that the man was high at this very moment.

" Some pals of yours dropped by my dad's restaurant," Jack said, sniffing. " Out of the blue. Though, mind you, not out in the open. Caught 'em on surveillance pokin' around the trucks. No bangin' on the front door, flashin' a warrant. Just slipped in, slipped out, quit as rats and quiet as snakes. See, Danny, my dad's what you would call kind of paranoid – not that it's a bad thing. He didn't like seeing faces he didn't know wanderin' around the back lot where we bring in the food. One of the guy's that worked for us said something about safety inspection. But my dad – come on, Messer, you really think he's that stupid? We recognized your buddy – what's his name, last name starts with an F? Detective, dark hair, seen him talkin' to you on occasion. Anyways, I knew just from seein' his face what was goin' down, and I thought to myself..." he stopped pacing and turned to look at Danny, " maybe Messer might know somethin' about this. So, do you Messer? You know somethin'? Been sending your pals in to sniff around my dad's place? Hopin' to find somethin' to get your dad off the hook?"

Danny's eyes never left Quinn. The escalating unease was making his heart beat fast. But he didn't say anything toward the affirmative or negative to what Jack had told him. In some ways, Jack's suspicions were true, Danny had inadvertently pointed Mac and the team in Quinn's direction. Danny opted for silence since nothing he would say would do to convince Jack of anything. Plus – though the repercussions would be ugly – a small part of Danny was basking in Jack's apparent agitation over this new development. It was nice seeing Jack rattled for a change.

Jack, a grin plastered to his face, narrowed his eyes and resumed his short pacing without ever looking away from Danny. " Wow, Messer, never thought you had it in you to keep your mouth so dang shut. Little late for that, don't you think?"

Danny lifted one shoulder in a shrug as a response. Jack chuckled.

" Messer, you little SOB, what're you tryin' to pull? What do you hope to accomplish by sic'n your people on us? You're only hurtin' yourself."

Jack did another round about on his heels, scraping the asphalt. But instead of taking another three steps the other way, he took three steps toward Danny. Danny's heart slammed against his sternum. On the outside, he didn't even blink. The smile was gone from Jack's face as Jack looked Danny over. Danny swallowed, hard, and knew Jack had spotted it, had seen it as a visible betrayal to what Danny was really feeling. But the movement of Danny's throat was only a confirmation to what was already known, so Danny didn't care.

Jack leaned in toward Danny, his fogged breath momentarily obscuring his face behind a white cloud. Danny scented garlic on that breath.

" Why'd you do it, Danny? Huh? When'd you get so stupid?"

Danny narrowed his eyes. " The restaurant thing, it just happened, Quinn. I didn't mean for it to, it just did. Besides, knowin' you, they won't find anything, right? I mean do you even know why they were sniffin' around? Do you even know what they were lookin' for? Because if you don't, and you have nothin' to hide, then why are you here? Why're you talkin' to me? What's the big deal?"

Jack straightened and took a step back. The smirk had reappeared, but something about it seemed more like a half-hearted attempt, difficult to maintain. Danny had to force back the reaction of realization that was swelling in him, since Danny knew that smirk. It was what came before the literal fall, when Jack went from being cocky to being furious. Danny had struck a nerve, and a nasty one at that, by uncovering Jack's one mistake. Had Jack been playing it safe, he wouldn't have come to Danny about his dad's place being under investigation. He would have avoided Danny all together, lay low for a few days until the heat either passed or lessened to a manageable degree. But Jack had reacted, which meant that he was worried.

It meant that he was hiding something.

" It's what Quinns are good at, right?" Danny went on. " Covering their ass?" A voice was screaming in his head to stop before the right series of nerves were plucked and Jack went over the edge. But Danny didn't want to stop. He wanted Jack to blow a fuse and react. The right amount of violence on Jack's part, and Danny would have something to use that could throw his tormentor's butt behind bars.

If Danny survived Jack's reaction.

Jack pointed a rigid finger at Danny, " You think you got me there, Messer?" then dropped it. " Maybe I just don't like the fact that you sent cops lurkin' like bloodhounds around my dad's favorite restaurant. I take offense to it, that's all. Nothin' to hide. Just wanted you to know that. Hey, by the way, caught a glimpse of your lady friend you were just with. She's hot. She available?"

" She's too smart for you, Jack. You might have a hemorrhage trying to comprehend anything she has to say."

Jack snickered. " Mature, Messer, very mature. But, hey, I like 'em with brains. Nothin' I can't handle. Not like we'd be doin' a lot of talking..."

Anger was shoving its away into Danny whether he liked it or not, welling up in his chest until it tightened. He pushed off from the wall with his hand raised in the air, turning to go. " We done here, Quinn? 'Cause its obvious you just want to make a crap-load of crude threats..."

Al stepped in front of Danny to block his way. Danny glared him down. " You wanna move? Or is that too much for that fried brain of yours to handle?"

Al, blood-shot eyes burning, took a step toward Danny. A heavy hand landed on Danny's wounded shoulder, squeezing then spinning him around. Jack, leering, gave Danny's shoulder another squeeze. The pain ran like acid down Danny's arm and side. Gasping, he jerked his shoulder away, only to have the hand return.

" You can't go yet, Messer. I'm not done talkin' to you. Now, seriously, what's that chick's number 'cause I'd really like to..."

Between the pain, the anger, and Danny being all out sick of both, he had plenty of motive for no longer caring. He became momentarily blinded to all else but the physical torment and rage burning through him, making the blood pound in his ears and his vision film over with red.

" Get your freakin' hands off me!" he screamed, and followed it up with a hard left into Jack's jaw. The adrenaline backing the punch caused Jack's head to snap around, and in the brief second of distraction Danny yanked off his sling to free his right arm. Using both hands, he grabbed Jack by the collar of his coat, yanked him around, and slammed him into the wall while shouting an endless stream of profanities. The agony of using his right arm was lost to him in that moment, and even its weakness from lack of use was no hindrance when he decked Jack again, knocking him to the ground, then picking him up for another blow. Hands grabbed his arms and shoulders, trying to haul him back, so Danny whirled around to deck the nearest guy trying to restrain him. Goatee went stumbling back, clutching his nose, and Danny went back to pummeling Jack. Jack had scrambled to his feet but not in time when Danny was on him, pounding and slamming away.

Jack managed a few punches of his own, yet was too busy for any more trying to ward off Danny's rain of attacks.

" Now you know how it freakin' feels!" Danny screamed again, lifting Jack for another slam against the wall. Fury had put a haze over Danny's mind, and a voice in Danny's head that shrieked at him to keep going, keep attacking, to never stop until Jack stopped. Because if Danny stopped, and Jack wasn't down, then Jack would be the one to attack – Danny and everyone Danny knew. And what Jack would dish out would be far worse than anything Danny was doing to him right now.

Experience had taught him that, and Danny couldn't let it happen.

Hands still tried to pull him away from Jack. The sensation was distant, even feeble, but irritating. Danny tried to shake them off but they stuck to him like burrs. He heard a click, and the sound shattered through the red haze, forcing his mind to consider the possibility of a gun being cocked at the ready. But he kept hitting, even when Jack hit back. Danny was aware of a painfully cold, stinging sensation running down his back, and it made him pause in surprise.

Jack took advantage of that pause, grabbing Danny by the collar of his coat, then swinging him around to slam _him_ into the wall. On impact, the sting became a raging fire that ripped through him, snatching the air from his lungs. Jack stumbled back, wiping away the blood running like rivers from his nose and mouth. He pointed a shaking finger at Danny.

" You're dead, Messer. You hear me? You're dead!"

Danny heard Jack, but the words didn't register. The pain in his back was terrible. He felt cold, dizzy, heavy. He began to slide down the wall, and when he did, Jack's eyes rounded over.

" What the hell?" he breathed, taking a step back. Goatee also stared with his jaw slack, but Al was grinning like an idiot, holding a switchblade before him. The business end dripped with blood. Danny stared at it numbly, then forced his unsteady hand behind his back, on left side. He felt the rip in the material of his coat, as well as his shirt and under shirt. But that was as far as he could handle going. When he pulled his hand out, it was covered in his blood.

Shocked, confused, Danny looked at Jack as though he held the answer, even with the answer right in front of him. Jack looked at Danny's bloody hand, then at Al's bloody knife, and began shaking his head.

" Aw, no, no, hell no. Al you freakin' moron! What the hell did you do!"

Al dropped his smile and blinked in confusion. " I – I... he was poundin' you, Jack! I couldn't get him off. What's the problem?"

" What's the problem?" Jack hissed, stalking toward Al. He shoved the smaller man back. " What's the problem! If he dies, I'm _screwed_! That's the problem! I told you this! You stupid, freakin' crack-head, I told you this!"

" I – I didn't stab him, I just cut him!" Al stammered.

Goatee came up behind Jack. " We need to dump him, get rid of the body before anyone finds it."

Jack looked over at Danny. Panting, Danny slogged through the fog of pain enough to meet Jack's gaze. Shock was making Danny's mind reel, but Jack needed to realize that to let Danny die was the worse move the man could possibly make. Sucking in a sharp breath, Danny used it to cough out a laugh.

" Y-you're screwed," he gasped. He wanted to laugh again. It was funny. Danny had placed Jack exactly where Jack did not want to be. But the pain wouldn't let Danny enjoy it.

" Son of a..." Jack mumbled. He quickly strode over to Danny, grabbing him beneath the armpits and lifting him up. Danny let loose a broken scream at the combination agony-torrent from his arm, ribs, and back.

" Help me get him up!" Jack barked. Goatee hurried over to stand behind Danny. A white faced Al stayed rooted to the spot.

" Aw man," Goatee moaned as he took Danny by the bicep and aided Jack in lifting the CSI to his feet. " There's a lotta blood, Jack."

" Stop the bleeding," Jack said, pulling Danny's arm across his shoulders. Danny stiffened. It just had to be his right arm being yanked around.

" What?" Goatee said, doing the same as Jack with Danny's other arm.

" Stop the freakin' bleeding!"

" How!"

" I don't know! Cover the cut."

" It's huge!"

" Where it's bleeding the most!"

Pain was released another intense wave when Goatee placed his hand over the gash and pressed in on it.

" Aw man," Goatee moaned again. They half-carried, half-dragged Danny from the alley.

" Questions are gonna be asked, Al, and you're the one who's gonna take the heat," Jack said. " Get a Taxi!"

The guy guarding the alley entrance glanced back, did a double take, then hurried out onto the sidewalk. When Jack emerged, a Taxi was waiting.

" I'm goin' alone," Jack mumbled. " Too many people, too many questions asked. You just clean up the mess. And make sure Al doesn't bolt."

Goatee and the guard helped Jack slide Danny into the cab. Once in, Jack slid in beside him.

" Hospital, now," Jack growled. He kept one hand on the back of Danny's neck to keep him up. Not that Danny needed it. The pain in his back was keeping him rigid as a tree. The world was spinning all around Danny, and it was making him ill. Slowly, he reached back behind him, risking potential vomiting to asses the wound by touch. To lessen the chances of expunging the little he'd had for breakfast, he felt along the ripped material of his coat that started at the shoulder blade and extended down to the middle rib, running parallel an inch from his spine. He shuddered.

" It's okay, pal, we're gonna make it," Jack was saying, over and over, patting Danny's shoulder with his other hand.

" He okay?" the cabby asked.

" No!" Jack snapped. " We just got freakin' mugged! Some SOB tried to lay my pal open here. He's losin' blood, so can you step on it?"

" Why didn't you call an ambulance?"

" I'm not waitin' for any ambulance!"

Danny almost laughed when he heard his phone ringing. He could have sworn he heard it ringing during the fight, but he'd been a little preoccupied with the sweet heat of fury to notice much else say for Jack's bloody face.

" You say anything," Jack hissed in a low whisper. " And I swear I'll finish what Al started and gut you afterwards. Then I'll do the same to your lady friend and your pops."

Not even Danny could say if it was a threat Jack would make do on, but Danny wasn't going to risk it. He just needed to bide his time. Jack really was screwed, it didn't matter what he did. But if someone had to die, it was either going to be Jack or Danny. Danny would make sure of it.

Traffic was still loose and free-flowing, so the time it took to reach the hospital was cut in half. The cabby pulled up directly in front of the emergency doors. He turned, his mouth half open, when Jack threw a small wad of cash at him.

" Keep the change. You'll need it to get the blood out."

Though it made Danny's mind spin to move his head, Danny glanced behind himself to see blood smeared on the seat. He grinned at the morbid irony of leaving blood behind in a cab. It seemed fitting. A cab was always present at the most violent moments of his life.

Danny was snapped from his clouded rumination when Jack yanked Danny's arm back around his shoulders. Danny cried out and tried to pull back, but the pain had reduced his strength to that of a child, a very small child.

" Man, I think you're hurting him..." the cabby said. Jack kicked the door closed behind him and hauled Danny through the sliding emergency room doors.

" Can I get a little help here!" Jack cried. Danny kept trying to pull away, so Jack yanked on his arm again. Two nurses hurried from around the front desk, and another appeared from the hallway to the right. They took Danny from Jack, and the moment Danny's arm was away from Jack's shoulders, he snatched it to his chest and held it there.

" I wanna go with him," Jack said as the nurses helped Danny down the hall. Danny could feel Jack's hot breath on the back of his neck.

" Sorry, sir, you need to wait out here," said the blond nurse. Danny closed his eyes and smiled.

_Thank you lady._

" Come on, he's my buddy."

" Sorry sir. Besides, you look like you could use a check-up yourself."

" Can you tell us what happened?" said the Hispanic nurse.

" Mugging. Listen, he's really spooked. I need to stick around in case he starts freakin' out or somethin'."

" Like hell you do," Danny snarled. He felt Jack's hand back on its favorite shoulder.

" You know I do, _pal_. Hey, you want me to call your _girl_? Tell her what happened? Or your dad? I've got their number right here."

The red-hazed rage was trying to make a comeback, but couldn't subdue the overwhelming pain that was making Danny's legs weak. Danny tried to turn, to jerk around and lunge at Jack. But all he managed was turning his head to see Jack fall back, holding up Danny's cell phone and grinning. The phone was ringing, and a nurse was warning Jack not to answer it.

" Wasn't planning to," Jack said, and dropped the phone into his pocket.

CSINY

A/N: Another lovely cliffie. My apologies. But, since we're nearing the end and everything's finally in order outline-wise, chapters should be quicker in coming. And if you think what just happened to Danny was bad, wait until you see what I have in store for the end.


	18. Ch 17

A/N: Okay, I do not recall if I mentioned anything about Mac knowing Danny's dad in earlier chapters. If I did, then it was a mistake and I will fix it later. I'm planning an eventual major overhaul of this story once it's complete. Also, the mentioned New York streets will be made up, so if you live in New York and know it like the back of your hand, please don't kill me, I apologize.

Ch. 17

" It's not deep except below the shoulder blade, Mr. Messer," the lady doctor explained. " The ribs must have prevented penetration."

" So they are good for something besides breaking," Danny grunted between clenched teeth. He gripped the padding of the table until his palm sweat, but made little protest otherwise with each puncture the sutures made. It wasn't so much painful as disturbingly uncomfortable with each pull.

" Are you sure you don't want something stronger to dull the pain?" The lady doctor, Dr. Rennolds, asked.

Danny coughed, then cleared his throat of the gunk trying to accumulate. " No, not really. I'd like to keep my head clear for the time being." He cleared his throat again. The muscles of his back twitched with each tug of the sutures. " How much longer?" he asked.

" Not long," Rennolds replied. " Sorry I couldn't find anything warmer."

Danny glanced down at the hospital gown covering the front of him. He might as well have been using cheese cloth for all the good the flimsy cotton was doing him, but in all truth he didn't care. Even wrapped in a heated blanket he'd still be shivering. Adrenaline tended to do that to a body. Fuel it to unnatural strength, then leave it weak, wanting, and veering toward vulnerable. The doctor kept having to tell Danny to sit up straighter so his skin wouldn't pull. Then, two minutes later he'd be sagging again with the gown trying to slip down his left arm. It would have fallen off all together if he hadn't kept his right arm pinned to his chest.

Then there was his exposed back leaking body heat carried away on drafts of cool air.

Danny sagged again, and coughed a few times. Rennolds put her hand on his left shoulder and gently pulled at him to sit straighter.

" How long have you had that cough?" she asked.

Danny replied, " About five minutes."

Rennold's murmured, " I'll need to check that. Your doctor's going to be pissed about this. Hope your friend called the cops on the guys who mugged you."

Danny closed his eyes and tilted his head back. " That scumbag isn't my friend."

" But he saved your life."

Danny couldn't hold back, he had to laugh. It was a quiet breathy chuckle that ended in several coughs to clear the persistent itch from his chest.

He wanted to tell. Oh how he wanted to get the doctor to pause in playing Dr. Frankenstein with the stitches to go call the cops and have them drag Jack's butt to the precinct. The need for it, and the urgency of it, were practically screaming in his brain. Jack had Danny's blood all over him, and Al had the attempted-murder weapon. Open and shut case right there.

Except the moment he spilled the truth to the doc, she would immediately go to the front desk to make the call. If Jack was waiting – which he would be, getting treated for the facial bruising out front to keep watch – he would see the doc's unease like a deer scenting a hunter still yards away. Not that Danny had anything against Dr. Rennolds, but he didn't know the woman. Maybe she could hold back signs of unsteady nerves, but then maybe she couldn't. And Jack would be watching like a hawk for the slightest sign that Danny had opened his mouth. It was the Quinn way.

Besides, even if Danny did manage to bring the cops in, Jack would manage to weasel his way out, if not entirely then enough to be back on the streets within days.

Danny dropped his head with a sharp exhale. He unabashedly admitted to himself that he had no idea what to do, because he had no idea what Jack had planned next. The doctor wanted to keep Danny over night to check for potential infections and keep an eye on his blood pressure. Jack couldn't keep Danny in his sights for ever. Thanks to his own pal Al, Jack was officially backed into a corner. It was his word against a cop's. Perhaps he would find a way for Al to take the fall, but time was too short for careful planning. Jack knew that the moment he was forced to leave the hospital, Danny would make the call to the department.

Danny knew of Jack's ways when he was angry. He'd yet to see his ways when he was desperate. Desperation was the child of fear, and fear incited a far more dangerous individual than anger ever could.

Danny had to play it safe without pushing Jack into immediate action. Danny glanced over his shoulder.

" You got a pen and paper I can borrow? There's some info I'd like you to have."

Rennolds, her mind laser-focused on her suturing, jerked her dark-haired head in a nod. " Just give me a sec. Just gotta tie this off." She pulled the seaming threads, then grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped the ends. Following that, she covered her work with a gauze pad and some tape.

" Here," she pulled a small notepad and pen from the pocket of her white coat, passing them over Danny's shoulder. He took the two and jotted Mac's name and number on the pad. He felt the slight pressure of Rennold's hands against his back as she applied more bandages. He then sucked in a breath at the touch of cold metal against his skin.

" Crap I hate that," he hissed, tearing the paper from the pad.

" Breathe in," Rennolds instructed. Danny sucked in a breath as he passed the pad, pen, and paper back over his shoulder.

Rennolds took all three. " Now exhale. What's this?"

Danny breathed out with a cough. " I need you to call that number. Mac Taylor's my boss, he needs to know where I am."

" You're free to contact him once we're finished," Rennolds said, trying to hand the paper back. Danny shook his head.

" Keep it. Think of him like my _real_ emergency contact. Just in case."

" In case of what?"

Danny shrugged. " Whatever. Just... hold onto that."

He heard Rennolds sigh, then the crack of paper being folded and placed into a pocket. The cold stethoscope moved to the other side of his back.

Rennolds said, " Okay, another breath, then exhaled."

Danny did as told, and Rennolds sucked air through her teeth.

" Congestion's forming. Your doctor's going to be _really_ pissed."

Danny grinned. " And I won't hold it against him. I'm just as pissed. I'm supposed to be getting better. Hey, you got a sling or something? My arm's killing me and I lost my last sling."

Dr. Rennold's adjusted the gown so both sides covered Danny's back. " Sure thing. And I'll see if I can't dig up a scrub. Gowns wouldn't keep mice warm in this weather, even with the heat on."

She patted him on the shoulder before exiting the room. Once the door shut, Danny finally allowed his body to slump with his elbow resting on his knee. He was tired, so tired that he could have slipped off the table and be out cold before even hitting the freezing floor. But he still had Jack to contend with, and that alone kept him upright.

" _Bastard_," Danny whispered, lowering his head to rub his scalp. Even Jack was beginning to take a back seat to exhaustion.

Danny had to deal with Jack. As much as he didn't want to, shouldn't have to, he couldn't turn his back to the man even to catch a few hours of rest. Jack was here, in this hospital, soaked to the elbows in damning forensic evidence. Danny couldn't let that go. Jack was weak, vulnerable, so now was the time to strike.

_Take the chance? _Sometimes, it was worth taking the chance. Other times, the consequences could be brutal. Danny didn't know what to do. If taking the chance meant putting his dad or any of his friends in the path of Jack's desperation, then that chance was far from being worth taking.

But doing nothing could make things worse.

Danny heard the rattle of the doorknob, but fatigue had turned his normally sharp movements sluggish. He looked up, slowly, to see the door open and someone step in.

Danny jerked back and nearly slipped from the table. Jack stood before the door, his hands in his pockets, and the cuts on his face held together by butterfly bandages.

He looked mad, the kind of mad that even today made Danny's gut churn. The kind of mad that preceded the pain. Jack smiled, but the anger continued to smolder in his darkened gaze like black fire.

" Time for another talk, Messer. But I'll make it quick seeing as how the last didn't go too well. Plus there's no sayin' when the doc'll be back."

Jack moved to the table, then around behind it, and Danny's eyes never left him. Jack lifted his hand and dropped it on Danny's shoulder. Danny flinched, twisting his neck as far as it would turn to keep Jack within sight.

" Danny," Jack sighed. He lowered his hand down Danny's back, then thrust his stiffened fingers straight into the recently stitched gash. Danny's head snapped back but he wasn't even given the chance to scream when Jack's hand covered Danny's mouth, stifling the agonizing cry. Danny tried to pull away, only to have Jack bend his head back and dig his fingers in harder.

" Things have taken a bad turn here, pal," Jack said. Danny gripped Jack's wrist to pull the hand away from his mouth, but Jack's hold was tenacious.

" I didn't mean for you to get hurt Danny," Jack said, " you need to realize that. It was an accident, and I swear Al's gonna pay for it. And you gotta remember... you were attacking me. There were witnesses. Al was just trying to help me out." Jack tsked. " Still, you're a cop, and I ain't exactly a respected member of society here. Thing's aren't gonna go down good for me, I realize that. That's why we need to come to a small agreement, just you and me. You see, you keep your mouth shut, and nothin' happens to a certain pretty young woman who happens to be a close friend of yours. We'll also lay off your friends, like the cop and that other pretty lady... the one on the surveillance. Now, you're probably thinkin' 'hey, there's no way Jack can get to them without screwin' himself over even more.' But it's like you said, I'm a Quinn, and Quinns know how to cover their ass. No way am I gonna let a crack-head's idiocy ruin my freakin' life, Messer. And there's no way I'm goin' to let you ruin it either, or your dad, or your NYPD pals. You didn't win a damn thing, here, Messer. You just made it worse..."

Jack's words became a garbled mess of noise in Danny's pain-addled brain. Jack kept pushing on the gash harder and harder, digging into it, straining the sutures. In his scramble to pull away, Danny slid off the table, only to be lifted to his feet when Jack's arm moved from Danny's mouth to his throat. Jack was pulling Danny back against the table to get him to sit back down as he continued to babble. Danny was forced to use both hands to try and pull the restraining arm away, but Jack only tightened his hold, pressing his arm into Danny's throat.

Tears burned in Danny's eyes until he couldn't see. But he didn't need to see. He reached out blindly to the small tray by the table until his hands found what he were looking for. He grabbed the scissors and stabbed them into Jack's hand. The moment Jack pulled his arm away with a yelp, Danny spun around with his fist clench, decking the guy right across the cheek. Jack fell, clutching his face with a bloody hand, but still alert enough to keep his head from slamming into the floor.

Danny didn't wait around for him to get back up. With the scissors still in hand, Danny grabbed his rent coat and bolted out the door and down the hall. He swung his coat into to place to cover his exposed back, then tucked most of the front end of the gown into his pants until it resembled a crappy shirt, the trailing ends hidden by his coat.

He moved at a fast walk – not for the lobby since the nurses wouldn't be too keen on just letting him walk through the door. On turning the corner he scanned the area for an emergency exit. Two corridors later, he found it and pushed through it without stopping. Winter winds hit him like one too many slaps in the face, and he winced with the cold leaking though the gown to rip into him. He wrapped the coat around himself and hunched his shoulders. Direction wasn't an issue with him right now. What mattered was getting away, and hopefully getting Jack to follow him. And Jack would follow.

Danny had a promise to make do on; Him or Jack – no one else.

CSINY

Anyone walking in would have assumed Stella to be fixated on the program flashing on the break room TV. She would have gladly corrected them had anyone said anything, but she was alone, vaguely rotating the plastic spoon in her lukewarm coffee. Her eyes stared unfocused at the TV just to be staring at something without the hassle of anyone walking in and asking what was wrong. She wasn't normally the kind to just stare off into space, or even sit for an uncountable number of minutes. Giving into the numbing effects of worry wasn't her mode - acting was. But since action couldn't be taken until Flack confirmed whether or not Danny was home, and Stella found her mind continually wandering while trying to process evidence, letting the minutes slip by in hazy thought was her only option.

Stella was ready to strangle Danny. Granted, everything that had happened and that was now happening to him wasn't his fault, but the relentless fear that something a lot worse was going to occur was burrowing into her nerves like a drill. It was as though the fear had been conditioned into her, starting with the hit, then branded into her being when the infections struck to nearly finish what the car had begun. Now, just when Danny was on the mend, Murphy's Law had reared it's ugly head.

She was aware that she was overreacting, but until she was certain Danny wasn't going to die any time soon, she didn't care.

_Really sucks to be Danny._ She picked up her coffee, took a sip, and grimaced at the lack of heat in the black drink. _Isn't too great being me either._

A knock on the break room door made Stella jump and snap her head around. Flack was standing in the doorway, wearing the look of a man trying to reserve judgment, but unable to contain his uncertainty. " We may have a problem."

Stella's heart plummeted like a rock dropped into water. She pushed back against her seat until it scraped the floor then stood. " He wasn't there."

Flack shook his head. " Nope. I even took the liberty of letting myself in. Safe to say I didn't find him passed out anywhere in the place. I tried calling him again but he didn't answer. Then I made the mistake of lookin' up his dad's number and calling him. He's heading over here, Stel, and I don't think he's gonna be in a sunny mood."

Stella shook her head. " Crap. Where the hell would he go?"

Flack shrugged. " I don't know. But I do know he wouldn't go this long without answerin' his phone or at least calling back."

" So what are you saying?"

Flack shrugged again. " I don't like it."

" Well... obviously. Maybe I better reword my question. What do you think's going on?

" Nothin' good if he isn't answerin' his phone. And his dad should be droppin' by at any minute."

Stella folded her arms. " You tell Mac?"

" Stel, nothin' against you, but Mac's usually at the top of the list on who to inform about anything."

Flack turned, heading from the break room, and Stella followed. He took the lead on their minute trek to the front entrance, where they found Mac pacing with a cell to his ear. Two seconds later he pulled it away and hit redial.

" Maybe he just lost his phone," Stella suggested on approaching Mac.

Flack shot her a look of disbelief. " I know he hasn't been one hundred percent but do you really think he'd be so out of it he'd lose his own phone?"

" Unless something happened to cause him..." Stella winced and cursed. " To lose it," she finished. She'd been wanting to avoid going down that road of thought, trying to look on the optimistic side, small as it was.

Mac hit redial again. The differences between the expressions of Mac being angry and Mac being nervous were subtle except to those who knew how to look close. At first glance it was easy to assume that Mac was pissed; but Stella knew Mac pissed, and the look he wore now wasn't quite as severe.

That last redial really was the last when Mac dropped the arm holding the phone to his side. He looked at Stella and Flack but didn't say anything. They remained in tense silence, the kind that made seconds tick by like hours, and words redundant though the itch to say something was infuriating. The need to do something was psychotic. But Danny not answering his phone wasn't reason enough to start processing his place.

A gray haired man in a long coat strode through the doors like a man in a rush, his eyes darting over every inch of the front entrance until his gaze settled on the three CSIs ahead of him.

" Which one of you's Don Flack?" He asked. His voice was authoritative, but everything about him oozed desperation leaning toward panic. Flack raised a tentative hand as though revealing himself would cause this man to attack.

" Um, that'd be me. You Clavin Messer?"

Cal stopped three feet from Don. " Yeah. You're the guy who called? Danny's detective pal?"

" Yeah, but I'm not really the guy you want to talk to, he is."

Flack pointed to Mac who had watched the brief exchange in quiet reserve. When Cal turned to the older detective, Mac thrust out his hand, and Cal took it in a firm, single shake.

" Mr. Messer, I'm Mac Taylor, Danny's supervisor."

" Where's Danny?" Calvin asked, doing another glance around. " Flack here called, said he wasn't home and that he hasn't been answerin' his phone. What's up with that?"

" I won't lie to you Mr. Messer. We don't know," Mac said. " A friend called us and told us he'd stopped by. He was supposed to stay home. We've been trying to reach him but he hasn't been answering his phone and we're starting to get worried."

Stella expected some sort of outburst from Cal, shouts and epithets on why no one was doing anything to find his son. Instead, he looked away, but not before Stella caught the near tumble into full-on despair and the flash of water brimming on the edge of Cal's eyes. The older Messer covered his mouth and glanced around over his shoulder, blinking fast, dredging up every last shred of composure before he crashed. It stabbed Stella's heart to see it. And here she thought she'd been worried.

" But it may be nothing," Mac continued. " We're just trying to confirm it. Do you know anywhere else your son would go? any friends, family?"

Cal coughed out a caustic laugh. " Det. Taylor..."

" Mac."

" Mac, as far as family goes, there aren't that many he'd go to, or even give the time of day to. Friends? He's mentioned a few, mostly you people, or whoever he's dating..."

Mac's phone rang and he held up his hand to halt Cal. Mac put the phone to his ear, and the tense silence made a sudden comeback.

" Taylor..." Mac listened, then perked, wrinkling his brow. " Yes, I know Danny Messer. I'm his supervisor."

Stella's heart thudded, and she was pretty certain everyone else's heart was doing the same, especially Cal's. He opened his mouth in ready for a spew of questions, but snapped it shut and clenched his jaw in painful restraint.

" What?" Mac barked. " He what?" Mac listened. " Okay... Listen, we'll come there and you can tell us in person... All right, thank you."

He replaced his phone, looking from face to face. " Danny was at the hospital, but he's gone."

" Gone!" Cal cried. " What do you mean gone!"

" Calm down Mr. Messer. Supposedly he went in for some cut on his back. The doctor had wanted him to stay overnight, he agreed to it, now he's vanished, but not before he gave the doctor my number. She was – if I understood her right - _vaguely instructe_d to call me if something 'happened', and no I don't know what was meant by that. We need to go there now. Stella, take Mr. Messer with you. Flack, you're riding with me."

Said and done was an unwritten law for the team. They headed from the building with Stella taking Calvin by the arm to guide him to where they kept the cars. Neither said a thing until Stella pulled into the street following close behind Mac. The day was maturing but hadn't reached the point where traffic was like a damned river refusing to move. Still, Mac had turned on the flashing lights, so Stella did the same.

" Nice to see you again, Mr. Messer" she finally said.

Cal twitched a quick grin. " I must have told you five times to call me Cal. You know, I still find it weird that you were the only co-worker I met out of all of 'em. Well, I met that doctor guy – Hawkes or somethin'. But you... it's like you were livin' at the hospital."

Stella allowed herself a small smile and nodded. " More like it was hard to stay away."

" I can understand that. 'Cause you were there, when he got hit. Right?"

Stella murmured, " Yeah... Exactly." But small talk was already starting to get on her nerves, and she was certain that Calvin was mutual in the sentiment.

"Listen – Cal - we're kind of aware – not thoroughly, just aware – of a situation involving you and some people by the name of Quinn..."

Cal whispered a curse with closed eyes and his head tilted back.

" We don't know the details, and we don't need to know. Danny told us only what needed to be said. We're working a case that might involve these Quinns and Danny needed to make us aware of the situation between you and them so he could be taken off the case. He didn't have a choice. I know that's why you're worried about him, but..." she looked nervously at Cal, " do you really think these people might do something to him? I mean... do you think... they _have_ done something?"

Cal shook his head. " No, no way. They wouldn't be that stupid. If they are up to somethin', it's a scare tactic. They know better than to lay a finger on Danny."

Stella looked back and forth from Cal to the street. " Can I ask why?"

" I'm not really allowed to talk about it. Let's just say I know some things. And because of that, the Quinns won't push it. At least they sure as hell better not."

Vocal silence filled the car, the only noise the whispering rush of traffic beyond the confines of the vehicle. Then Cal began to chuckle – a cold, humorless sound.

" You know, I'm startin' to think I'm bad luck for my own kid."

Stella looked at him oddly but said nothing, since she didn't know what to stay. Their encounter at the hospital had been brief, so it wasn't like Stella had come to know the man all that much.

Cal continued. " Whatever happens to me, it kind of has a way of bleeding out onto him. And I can never do crap about it. When he was ten, we were comin' home from this baseball game. We got into this gypsy cab. The next thing I know, the cabby's beatin' on me, then beatin' on Danny, and I didn't do a damn thing to stop it. No one blamed me, of course, said I was too beat to hell to do anything. But, you know, did I even try? That's what I keep wonderin'. Did I really try to do anything? Over the years, it's gotten kind of hazy, never the same twice, so I just keep wonderin', probably even more now than I did then. But, now, I got somethin' new to wonder about. And that is - what am I doin' wrong? I'm doin' everything I can to help Danny, and these SOBs still won't back off. So, obviously, I'm doin' somethin' wrong. Or I need to do somethin' more..."

Cal shook his head, then turned away to look out the window. Stella continued her back and forth glances, uncertain the direction Cal was going with this apparent confession. But she did understand one aspect of it.

Helplessness. Helplessness she got more than she wanted to.

" You know what's funny about situations like that, the ones that make you wonder?" she said. " You're probably doing everything right, but because it isn't working, you never realize it, even when others tell you about it. So, yeah, you never stop wonderin'. But everyone gets that way about everything. I think its when you no longer know what to that you've exhausted all possibilities, and can't do anything more. Of course, even then, you still never realize it."

Cal nodded but never looked away from the window, as though hoping he'd spot Danny on the sidewalk, and couldn't look away just in case.

CSINY

" W-What the h-hell am I d-d-doing?" Danny hissed through chattering teeth. He was so tight with cold-induced tension that it actually hurt. Having the coat pulled and hugged tightly to his chest spread the ripped material at his back. The focus of cold on that one area was like having an ice shard stuck to his skin. On the plus side, it had numbed the gash to feeling like nothing.

Danny moved north down side-streets and through alleys to avoid the eyes of the sidewalk crowds that were bound to do a double-take on noticing the blood soaked through Danny's coat. And just because he wanted Jack to follow him, it didn't mean Danny wanted to make it easy for him.

If Jack was giving chase to begin with. For all Danny knew, the Quinn had bolted to exact plans on saving his own skin.

_So what am I doing again?_ Initially, he'd wanted to draw Jack out, distract him from doing anything to anyone else. But now that Danny was free of distraction, his mind cleared by the biting cold, he began to realize something that was more toward the truth of what he was really doing than he wanted to admit.

His goal to keep Quinn away from everyone else was legit enough. One notch above that was the simple, basic, instinctual need to get away from Quinn; an almost animal reaction of self-preservation driving out the vast majority of rational thought. Jack wouldn't have killed Danny, but the pain the man liked to cause was enough to make Danny's subconscious think otherwise.

Danny had panicked, and he hadn't even realized it. He just wanted it to stop – the pain, the threats, being watched, followed, and attacked everywhere he turned. And since each attack grew progressively worse, the only option presented – in that momentary stint of agony – had been to run.

The cold created a stronger irritant for his lungs, and he started coughing more than he had in the hospital. He glanced over his shoulder, and strained his ears for the smallest sound. But this was New York, and noise was a constant. Every sound made his heart jolt and his skin crawl. He still had the scissors clutched in his fist tucked in the sleeve of his coat. It was better than nothing.

Problem; he was getting tired, fast. Tense muscles, fast walking, and arctic air rubbing his throat and lungs raw ate his energy like starving dogs tearing apart a rat, and fear and cold couldn't do a thing about it.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid move Messer! Stupid!_ He stumbled, exiting the narrow strip of asphalt between two buildings and coming out into an open back lot with a basketball court bordered by a chain link fence. Danny slowed on approaching the court, and pulled his stiff arm from himself to cling to the fence and rest his forehead against the frigid metal, catching his breath.

_So freakin' stupid. Jack's not following you_. If anything, Jack was still back at the hospital, getting stitches for his hand, bad-mouthing Danny to the doctor by saying how Danny was a psycho who needed to be strapped down or some crap like that. Sitting warm, comfortable...

Danny closed his eyes. He started looking back, deciding on an exact point to when everything went so to hell. He was going to lose his dad, and probably his life once his dad was behind bars where he couldn't react. Was it the evidence's fault? Mickey's for handing it over to Calvin? If anything, it started long before any evidence. It began with Jack himself, and his sick sadism. The man's passion for cruelty was his driving force, not some misplaced sense of family loyalty. He liked what he did. Using Danny to pressure Calvin was just an excuse for Jack being able to practice his favorite hobby on his favorite victim. And all because he'd been practicing on someone else, and had gone too far.

Danny opened his eyes. Was it a cycle? Would Jack do something to Danny, then repeat the process of torment to keep someone else quiet? Seemed likely enough. One big buffet of laying on the hurt – that had to be Jack's dream come true.

Cold slipped like snakes through the hospital gown and the rip in the coat. It soaked into his skin, riding his blood, wrapping itself around his bones, stinging his lungs. He closed his eyes again and sucked in a sharp breath in preparation to move his stiff limbs and keep going – just until he could find a phone.

" Hey buddy."

Danny gasped and snapped his eyes open with a slamming heart. He pulled his head up then around to stare vaguely at the tall, dark-skinned young man wearing a navy-blue hooded sweater and a dark red knit cap. The man looked Danny up and down, uncertain as to what he was seeing, and concerned for the same reason.

" You okay man? You need a doctor or somethin'?"

Danny heard other voices, and turned his head to see a group of guys now gathered on the court, one bouncing a basketball from hand to hand, and all staring at Danny while talking in low voices. Danny looked wearily back at the tall man.

" You wouldn't happen to have a phone on you..."

The man lifted his hand clutching a silver cell phone.

Danny sighed in utter relief. " Can I borrow it? Quick call, I swear."

The guy shrugged. " Sure," and handed the phone to Danny. Danny pried his fingers from the fence and took the phone with a trembling hand. He turned, leaning his back against the fence while dialing, sucking in a sharp breath at the biting cold metal touching his skin through the ripped coat. He coughed, clearing his throat, and put the phone to his ear.

" Taylor."

" H-Hey Mac."

" Danny?"

Danny heard other voices over the phone, distant in the background, calling his name. He could have sworn one of them sounded like his dad.

" Y-Yeah. L-Listen Mac... I, um... I'm i-in a little t-trouble here..."

" Danny, where are you, are you all right?"

Danny coughed and cleared his throat again. " Not really. I'm, uh... where are you?"

" Hospital. Where are you?"

" North, I h-headed n-north." Danny took a deep breath, swallowed, and cleared his throat a third time to compose himself enough to keep a steadier voice. " There's a basket ball court..." He then lowered the phone to look at the bewildered young man. " Where is this?"

" Um... it's the old Stanton lot. Used to be a department store and a bunch of apartments. Most of 'em abandoned, some under renovation. Between Battery and Lincoln."

Danny put the phone back to his ear and relayed the location.

" Okay, listen Danny. Just stay right there and we'll come get you."

Danny smiled coldly. " Y-You b-better make it quick Mac. It's freakin' c-cold..." Danny nearly dropped the phone. A body had emerged from an alley several yards away from him, and on focusing on that body, Danny recognized the bruised and pissed face of Jack Quinn staring at him as though his gaze were a gun, ready to fire.

The breath caught in Danny's throat, and his heart tried to crawl up in with it.

" Ah crap no!" he moaned.

" Danny? Danny!"

" It's freakin' Quinn, Mac! I gotta go. He's c-coming..."

Danny didn't give Mac time to respond. He didn't even hang up. He threw the phone back to its owner while at the same time turning and bolting away, around the court and down an alley littered with trash and frozen puddles. He didn't even consider the fact that he hadn't been alone, that there had been witnesses; because with Jack it didn't matter if there were witnesses. If Danny was going to risk his life to keep his friends and dad out of danger, he sure as hell wasn't about to put a complete but still helpful bunch of strangers in the path of that same danger.

Danny ran without direction, turning between buildings, yanking and pushing at doors to see if any opened. He heard, reverberating sharp like distant gunshots, approaching footfalls of another runner.

" Danny! You little piece of crap! You're gonna pay for what you did to me!" Jack's voice was everywhere, meaning he could be anywhere.

Then fortune finally smiled on Danny after keeping him hanging for too long already. On throwing himself against the back emergency exit to some chipped brick complex, the door burst inward and Danny stumbled into the dark, musty, and mold-scented interior, slamming into a flimsy wall that sent plaster raining on his head from the ceiling. He pushed away, scanned around, squinting until his eyes adjusted to the haze and gloom. Most of the walls were bare frames, tangled with rusted pipes and metal insulators like snakes spewing frayed wires. Other walls were ripped, cracked, or water-stained. It was one of those buildings that guy had mentioned, either abandoned or in the midst of renovation. Whatever the case, it made for a good enough place to hide in.

Danny moved deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of walls and shadows with his hand outstretched, feeling for obstructions.

Then he heard it – a door being kicked open with a crash and a thud. Danny darted into a door-less room, slamming his back against the flimsy drywall and going rigid.

" Danny! You are seriously goin' to pay for this! Think I'll take one of your fingers, send it to your dad. Bet he'd like that you little piece of... Danny! You'd better be in here."

Danny gripped the scissors until the bottom half of the blade bit into his palm. His heart slammed with each creak, each curse, all of them coming closer. And the closer they came, the faster his heart beat, with his breath racing to keep up with the rushing blood.

" Come on," Danny breathed, barely above a whisper. One quick swipe, aimed above the neck, or a sudden thrust to the chest – that was all he needed. It was either him or Jack... preferably Jack.

A creak sounded just outside the small room, accompanied by harsh breathing and soft, continuous cursing.

_Closer, you bastard. Just a little closer..._

CSINY

A/N: Ah, the horror that is the evil cliffie. You know what? I'm tired of this story, think I'll quit... Just kidding! No, really, just kidding, no need to start waving pitchforks and torches around. Like I'd ever leave a story hanging. Especially not this one. The part I have been looking forward to with great relish is next. I have been clinging to this story, urging myself on to finish it just for what's coming up next, and it should be a doozy.


	19. Ch 18

A/N: If you think what happens in this chapter is impossible, I've heard stories of people surviving worse.

Ch. 18

" Danny!" Mac shouted into the phone for the third time, then dropped his arm. " Damn it!" He slammed down the emotional flood enough not to kick something, but didn't care how potently his anger was expressed.

The curse caused several nurses to jump, but made Calvin Messer go white.

" What? What happened?" he pressed. Mac turned to face the man, and the rest of the team, gathered close around as though conferencing, each face taut with the anxiety of wanting to know but dreading what they might hear.

Mac was never one to keep anyone waiting, or wait around himself for that matter. " He got cut off and we need to move. Mr. Messer, I need you to stay here."

Calvin sputtered. " Wha...? But... why?"

" Because this is where Danny's going to be brought in when we find him."

Calvin looked ready to barge out the doors on his own personal crusade to find Danny. He shook his head vehemently. " No, I gotta find him. I can't let anything happen to him..."

Stella placed her hand on his shoulder. " We're gonna find him and bring him back, Cal, but you need to stay here – in public – where it's safe. You know this."

" They're after your son to get to you," Mac reminded. " You go out searching for him, get separated from police protection, the Quinns might see it as an opportunity to just get rid of you."

The struggle between wanting to argue and letting the truth of the words sink in played out on Calvin's face for everyone to see. But they didn't have time to wait for an answer. Mac turned to a uniform officer who'd already been in the building when Mac and the rest arrived.

" Keep him here," Mac said, then turned to Dr. Rennolds. " We're probably going to need an ambulance once we get out there." Mac hated saying it. Too close to sounding like a verbal death write-off.

Rennolds, composed but not relaxed, nodded stiffly. " I'll have one dispatched. Stanton isn't that far."

With that said, Mac made for the front entrance with Stella, Flack, and two uniforms in tow. Stella widened her stride to catch up with Mac, and walked along side him.

" Ambulance?" she said. " You really think...?"

Mac looked at her, and the soul-deep worry lining her features startled him. But Mac hated mincing words.

" He was cold, Stella. Cold, hurt – his reaction time's going to be slow. If Quinn doesn't do something... hypothermia might."

Stella's face paled, but tightened with what Mac could only assume was die-hard determination.

" Then let's be the ones to do something first," she said.

CSINY

_Closer, closer, closer, closer..._ Danny mentally urged. But the more he urged, the slower Jack's steps seemed to become. The man had even stopped cursing.

Danny swallowed against a dry, raw throat, and held his breath to hold back a cough. Jack's methodical movements were torture. The man knew, that was why he was slowing. He knew Danny was in the building, and nearby. The silence made Danny's shallow breath sound like a roar to his own ears, betrayed by the gathering congestion starting to rattle in his lungs. He needed, wanted, ached, to cough and clear the rattle away. His eyes watered, his jaw clenched, and his chest tighten.

_Get in here you bastard!_

Silhouetted movement flashed out of the corner of Danny's eye, and the quiet shallow breath of a man trying not to be heard caught his ear. Danny, wound taut enough for his muscles to snap, reacted.

Danny lashed out with the scissors by bringing them down hard and fast. He heard a yelp, then a thud when Jack jerked away to slam his back into the door frame.

" Danny you son of a..." then Jack kicked out with his foot, catching Danny in the right ribcage before Danny could advance and finish Jack. Danny fell onto his back with a gasp when the breath was snatched from him on two fronts – back _and_ front. Then a foot slammed onto his wrist.

" Drop 'em!" Jack barked.

Danny released his hold on the scissors. But before Jack could crouch to retrieve them, Danny brought his leg back then rammed his foot into Jack's knee. Jack screamed, crumpling to the floor, but not before pushing the scissors away. Danny scrambled to his feet and made a dash for the scissors, only to fall flat on his chest when Jack grabbed Danny's ankle and yanked back.

The fall, and the pain that followed, dazed Danny long enough for Jack to get to his own feet. Jack grabbed Danny by the shoulders of his coat and hauled him up to throw him into the wall. Danny grabbed an exposed pipe before he slid down that wall, and used it as support to keep himself up as the room spun wildly.

" This wasn't how it was supposed to be," Jack said, approaching Danny with cautionary slowness pending potential retaliation. " Come on, Danny, don't do this. Just go back to the hospital, get yourself fixed up, and go home. It's out of your hands, Messer. Your dad's going to jail whether you like it or not. And I promise, once he does, I'll back off."

The spinning room gradually righted itself in Danny's vision, and he shook his head to clear it the rest of the way.

" Listen, Danny," Jack went on. " I know how courts operate. It's dark in here, you can hardly see my face. No real way to identify me as the assailant. If anything, I'm gonna be your savior. I'm gonna take you back to the hospital. Anything you have to say'll be dismissed due to delirium caused by _intense_ pain..."

Danny squinted. He could see Jack's darker outline in the gloom, but not his features. The man was right. Lawyer's fed like sharks in a frenzy on minor details – like not being able to see the assailant. Voice recognition was never enough.

But Danny didn't care about trials or lawyers. He just didn't want Jack touching him.

When the man was finally close enough, Danny kicked out again, hitting Jack squarely in the stomach. Jack gasped, doubling over, and Danny pushed himself from the wall, using the momentum to tackle Jack to the floor. Danny tried to pin him, but Jack slugged him across the face, knocking Danny onto his side. Danny heard his glasses go skittering away from him, blurring the room and melding Jack's form deeper into the shadows. But as long as Jack kept moving, Danny could find him.

Jack scrambled to his feet, and Danny did the same, going for another tackle and slugging Jack at the same time. Instead of going down, Jack grabbed Danny by the collar of the hospital gown. Gripping tight, he swung Danny around and into a gutted wall.

Something ripped through Danny's body - thin, sharp, penetrating the back, then ripping through his chest - and Danny screamed at the searing explosion of pain.

" Whoa!" Jack cried, stumbling back.

There was something in Danny, he could feel it, something caught between his right ribcage and sternum, tapping against the bones at the slightest movement. He was gripping it, whatever it was now sticking out of his chest, out of instinct. It was ridged, slick with something warm and wet that was also soaking into the gown. He wanted it out. He didn't care what it was, or what the liquid was covering it – he just wanted it out, to stop tapping against his bones. He tried to pull but his hands kept sliding off. He tired again, gasping, whimpering, every breath causing this thing to grate against his breastbone.

" G-Get it out," he croaked.

A thin, piercing light cut through the twilight gloom to land directly – unsteadily – on the thing Danny gripped and pulled at. It was too thin to be a pipe. It was more like a metal brace, the ridged kind normally seen jutting like ragged bones from concrete walls or worn bridges, only smaller - and it was dripping with blood.

The sight of it increased Danny's breathing, and he gagged on bile when his sternum pressed painfully against the metal bar with each pant.

" Get it out!" Danny screamed, pulling in a frenzy of his hands slipping and regripping the bar. " Get it out!" He leaned forward, putting his weight into the pull, and both he and his hands slipped off.

Danny fell first to his knees, then to his side, rolling onto his arched back while gripping the exit wound with both hands. He lay gasping and swallowing back the persistent bile that wanted to pour from his mouth in a fiery river. His heart raced uncontrollably, jackhammering out of control. The beam of light – either a penlight or mini-maglite – danced across Danny's body from his face to his bloody hands covering the wound.

" Ah crap..."

Danny barely heard Jack's voice above his own frenetic breathing, and the creak of a floorboard when Jack moved. But he did 'feel' Jack close by, very close, shifting the unseen border that marked personal space like one ripple hitting another. When Danny moved his elbow, it brushed the toe of a polished shoe.

Jack was standing over him, and the meager shaft of light remained fixed on Danny's bloody hands.

Say for Danny's rasping breath, the room was dead silent. That silence terrified Danny, a terror that coalesced with the terror of Jack standing over him statue-still, and the terror of blood spilling from two wounds born of the same object. Danny had never been so terrified in his life, not all those times Jack had tormented him, not even when the gypsy cab driver had beat him within an inch of his life.

Because, during those times, he'd never been alone. His dad had always been somewhere within sight, within hearing. His presence didn't stop the torment, but it did stop the fear. It was the simple knowledge of knowing that someone was nearby enough to alert when things got really bad, or to crawl to when it was all over, that made the situation less than what it was. It was why Jack had always been so careful about what he did to Danny, to keep Calvin from finding out. And when the cabby had finally driven off, and Calvin had gathered a much smaller Danny into his arms, Danny had been embarrassed, had felt violated, confused, but he'd stopped being afraid.

No dad now. There was only Jack, staring down at Danny and the blood coating Danny's hands, sticking the gown to his skin. When the blood finally clotted and dried, it would be like cement. The gown would have to be peeled off.

Tears carved paths through the sweat and grime on Danny's face. The tip of Jack's shoe made itself visible in the light. Jack kicked Danny's hands away, then pressed his foot down onto the oozing hole. It didn't seem possible, but Danny's terror shot up an insurmountable degree.

" W-What...?"

Jack didn't let him finish. He put weight on his foot, stepping on Danny, and Danny screamed.

" Messer," Jack said. His tone was flat, but strangely wistful. " This is your own fault, pal. Because you had to be too freakin' stubborn."

Danny grabbed Jack's foot to pull it off, but his strength was gone, dead. Danny tried to suck in a breath and began to panic when his lungs didn't expand no thanks to the foot pushing on his ribs.

" P-please..." Danny choked. He didn't care how it sounded, he didn't care that he was desperate, because he was. Danny pried one hand from Jack's leg to grope behind him for something – anything – he could use that would get this foot off.

The tip of his fingers found the scissors. He pulled them within reach, gripped them, then squeezed his eyes shut as he forced whatever thread of strength he had left into his arm. He brought his arm up, then down with everything he had. The blade glanced off Jack's leg, who yelped and jerked his foot away.

" You son of a bitch!" he snarled, and kicked Danny hard in the side. The pain of it caused him to gasp air into his depleted lungs. Danny, his mind becoming fogged, was distantly aware of Jack grabbing a fistful of the gown to lift Danny up, only to have the gown start slipping off Danny. Jack released the cloth in disgust and gripped the collar of Danny's coat. Danny braced himself for the blow.

It never came. Danny heard a sound, like a wail or high-pitched whine rising then falling. He knew that sound, and a beautiful sound it was.

Police sirens. And as they increased, closing the distance, he smiled.

" Damn it!" Jack barked. He released Danny, and Danny heard receding footfalls as the man ran from the room.

Once again, Danny was overcome by the desire to laugh. But it came out as a cough. He was too tired to laugh anyways, and too cold. He didn't even really hurt that much anymore, so rolled onto his side, curling into himself to salvage whatever body heat was left. He closed his eyes, promising himself for only a minute, just until someone came..."

CSINY

Stella pulled into the lot and stopped two feet behind Mac's car. She was out the door without even shutting it behind her. Mac was already talking to a group of young men on the other side of the chain-link fence, particularly an African-American kid in a blue sweater.

" ... north. Just bolted north," the kid was saying. " Then that suit took off at a run after him. I tried to step in his way to stop him but the dirtbag just shoved me aside like I was nothin'. Then Miles here," he jerked a thumb at another dark-skinned kid, slightly shorter and more slender, " went after 'em, but he lost 'em."

Mac looked at Miles quizzically. " You just went after them?"

Miles sniffed. " Dude in the glasses looked like he needed help."

The taller kid nodded assent. " The blond guy looked bad, real bad. Pale and crap, like he was sick, and had all these bruises on his face. I thought he was gonna drop right here and now until that guy showed up. And let me tell you, your friend looked scared to hell."

" Anyone think to call the cops?" Mac asked. A Hispanic kid with a shaved head raised his hand, holding up his cell.

" I did."

Mac nodded in approval. " Good, we're going to need back up."

" We didn't know the guy in the glasses was a cop," a red-head kid said.

Mac shook his head. " Wouldn't have mattered. You did everything right, thanks guys."

The group visibly relaxed. Mac turned to Stella, Flack, and the uniforms gathered behind him and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

" This way." He then pointed at three newly arrived uniforms. " You three stay here and get statements."

The team and two officers moved as one into the alley where the tall kid said Danny had ran.

" Shouldn't we bring in Sheldon and Lindsey?" Stella asked.

" Already called them, they're on their way," Mac replied. " You really want to wait for them?"

Stella shook her head stiffly. " No way.

They split up, dividing down between buildings and vacant side streets. It was common consent that Danny couldn't have gone far in his condition. Logic dictated that he would have taken the closest available hiding place, and since most of the buildings looked unused, he would have had plenty to choose from.

Stella gripped doorknobs and handles, rattling them, tugging then pushing, each time calling Danny's name. She didn't like the silence. Useful as it was, it felt unnatural to her, as though she had stepped into some alternate reality where sound didn't exist, and no matter how loud she called Danny would never hear her.

The bad case of deja vu only made it worse. The setting now was a far cry from that night when the car bolted like a spooked phantom horse out of the mist to nearly knock Danny into an early grave. But the silence was another matter. Too much like the after math of that collision. All her shouting hadn't been able to chase it away even then, and even now it still exaggerated the sound of her pounding heart.

" Danny!" she shouted with hands cupped around her mouth. She stopped and turned about, calling again. She was really starting to hate the silence. It was like delicate glass that she wanted to shatter, but her voice alone wasn't enough. She needed Danny's voice to do it, loud or weak, it didn't matter. The broken silence would be heaven.

Then it was broken, but not by a human voice. A loud thump made her startle and spin around. She didn't see anything, not right off. Then a gust of wind that sent her hair flying about her shoulders pushed against a door, opening it ever so slightly, then slamming it back against its frame.

Stella, wide-eyed, ran to it. " Danny!" On reaching the door she paused to draw her gun. Reaching out, she yanked the door open, holding her weapon at chest-height. With her other hand she grabbed her flashlight from her coat pocket and clicked it on. She moved slow and stiff on entering the building, shining her light where the shadows were darkest.

" Danny?" she whispered Somehow, shouting no longer felt safe, or appropriate.

She moved right, darting to walls, leaning to the side to shine the light through holes and door-less entrances, until the beam finally landed on the source for her constant agitation and fear.

" Danny!" she practically screamed, her heart slamming up into her throat on seeing the blood-stained coat wrapped around the huddled body. She ran into the room and fell to her knees by Danny's form. She grabbed his arm, and gently rolled him onto his back. She blanched, gagging on her own breath, at all the blood soaked into the gown.

" Oh gosh..." she gasped. She put her fingers to his neck and pressed.

There was a pulse, a weak, barely noticeable pulse, but enough to make her release the breath she'd been holding.

Then it was gone. The pulse just stopped, and Stella's heart seemed to stop with it.

" No," she breathed, moving her fingers all over Danny's throat. Abandoning that, she leaned over Danny and placed her ear on the left side of his chest, but didn't hear the muffled thumping of a beating heart.

Panic wrapped around Stella's own neck in a strangle hold. " No!" She screamed, scooting around to Danny's left side. She pressed her fingers to the edge of Danny's ribcage that was disturbingly easy to feel, and followed it up to the sternum. She pressed the heel of her hand to his chest, covering it with her other hand, and started compressions. She counted under her breath, stopped, placed her ear to his chest, and listened.

" No," Stella groaned. She tilted Danny's head back, breathed for him, then went back to compressions. " Come on," Stella urged. She stopped, listened, breathed for him, then started again. " Come on, Danny, come on." She compressed harder, faster, her own pounding heart throwing her off rhythm. " Come on! Damn it Danny! _Come on!_ _Please_!" She was sobbing now, pressing harder.

Then she heard something – and felt something – crack.

" No!" she screamed, halting the compressions abruptly but keeping her hands frozen in place. The one time she was actually able to do something for Danny, and irony still found a way to screw it up for her and kick her back down into feeling like a weak, helpless little girl with no adults around to save the day. She curled her fingers into a trembling fist. The feel of his ribs beneath her knuckles – _why is he still so thin? Oh, gosh..._ - made her gut roil with nausea. It was like touching a corpse, too much like it – a cold shell of dead tissue and congealing blood. Just another body to be processed, bagged, shipped to the morgue, and dissected. Blood drained, organs removed... For the first time in a long time, Stella felt ready to puke.

Then she felt something else beneath her hands, something she nearly missed lost in her myriad thoughts of horror. A small, struggling pulsating. Startled back to reality, Stella put her ear to Danny's chest, and let out a choked laugh at the sound of Danny's heart.

" Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou..." She laughed and sobbed at the same time, rolling her head so that her forehead rested on Danny as she thanked over and over. She then lifted her head and pulled the right side of the gown down just below the wound. After that, she pulled Danny's arm from the sleeve of the coat and rolled him enough to see his back.

There was another wound, but it wasn't a large, ragged exit wound. Danny hadn't been shot.

She carefully lowered him back to the floor. Taking part of the top half of the gown in her hands, she ripped off a section, then ripped that section in two. Wadding one she placed it against the wound on Danny's back, and the other on his chest. Holding it down with one hand, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket with the other.

She hit the number that would speed-dial Mac, then placed the phone to her ear and held it there by lifting her shoulder. She pressed the cloth harder on the wound. She looked Danny over, at the fresh bruises on his side, the ragged stitches, and the blood smeared all over him. Her eyes moved to his hand and the scissors resting in his palm, scissors covered in blood.

Stella smiled. " If that's what I think it is, Danny... Good job."

CSINY

A/N: Just a little further to go now. Sorry for the morbidness of this chapter. Now, keep in mind, I'm not medically savvy. If you think Danny should have bled to death by now, there might be explanations to why he didn't, I just don't know what they are. Further details of his physical state will be taken care of in the next chapter, so don't burn me about not mentioning them in this one.

And Jack will get his. They always do.


	20. Ch 19

Ch. 19

" In here!" Stella shouted. Numerous lights flashed spasmodically off the walls and through the darkness like lightening, and several voices speaking at the same time coalesced incoherently. But most of Stella's attention was on the near imperceptible rise and fall of Danny's chest, because the moment that stopped, she needed to be ready.

She shivered at the brush of cold air leaking through her long-sleeved shirt. She had utilized her coat to cover Danny, and kept her hand beneath that coat applying pressure to the oozing hole in his chest. Her other hand she had over his heart, feeling its rhythm, also at the ready in case the beat ceased.

The wildly roving lights found their way into the room, some hitting Stella straight on in the face to momentarily blind her. Wincing, she looked away.

" We can take it from here," Stella heard over the babble of medical terms. She felt someone try to pull her hand away from the wound, but some deeper instinct urged her to keep her hand in place.

" Ma'am?" the male voice said, soft but urgent. " I need to take a look."

Stella looked back, and the reality she had not realized had slipped away finally slipped back. She moved her hand, and the moment she did another pair of gloved hands replaced them. Someone else removed the coat and handed it to Stella, who gathered it to her chest. She could smell the blood on it, faintly metallic and overwhelmingly nauseating.

The two Paramedics swarmed around Danny, and Stella was forced to move back. Rising to her feet, she walked around them to the other side, but refused to leave the room until Danny did. In the constant movement of flashlights, Stella saw the flash of crimson and metal on the floor by Danny's hand. Without even thinking about it, Stella pulled out the cloth normally used to handle evidence when gloves weren't available, and picked the scissors up.

" Stella?"

Stella felt the weight of a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped, whirling around. She couldn't see his face, but the voice was distinctly Mac's.

" Mac," she sighed in relief. She then turned her head to look over her shoulder when she heard someone say something about moving Danny. She could see the two paramedics crouching, then rising, lifting Danny now lying on a backboard.

Without looking back, Stella pressed the cloth with the scissors into Mac's hand.

" I'm going with him, Mac," she said.

Mac nodded and replied, " Go."

They stepped aside to let the paramedics through, and once passed Stella followed them hot on their heels. Outside, the cold hit her with the force of a blow, and she swung her coat back on – screwing the fact that there was blood all over it. The paramedics had Danny in the ambulance, and the brown-haired paramedic that had taken over applying pressure helped Stella into the vehicle. Protocol wasn't too keen on having anyone but family ride along, but Stella knew the extent of Danny's injury, so her presence was more of a necessity than simply ignoring protocol.

The doors slammed shut and the ambulance started off.

" His heart stopped at one point," Stella said. " I did CPR, B-but I think I might have broken a rib or something. I felt something crack."

The blood-caked gown had been discarded long ago, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. The second paramedic, a Hispanic man with close-cropped hair, gently probed the individual ribs of Danny's chest. A bruise was beginning to make an appearance, and it was going to be a nasty one.

Stella looked on in numbed fascination. She pondered the oddity of how she was feeling. It wasn't so much detachment, not with the way her heart was pounding and the worry gnawed at her insides, making her ache with tension. The blood smeared all over Danny, and the bruised flesh was sickening, all way too much like before, when the car had ripped a gaping hole in Danny for all the world to see. But rather than the need to scream or cry or vomit, Stella was overcome by a sense of calming awe.

Especially when Danny's eyes opened.

It was barely perceptible, and caused a kind of electrified jolt to shoot through Stella on seeing it. The lids weren't peeled back enough for her to see the color of Danny's eyes, just enough to catch the glint of light when his eyes moved.

Again, not like before. No blind terror-stare here. Maybe it was because of the blood loss, extreme cold, all out exhaustion – or more logically all three – that made him appear exceedingly calm, as though he had just woken up from a peaceful nap. His eyes flicked about for a moment until they came to rest on her. He didn't say anything, not like he could with the oxygen mask over his face. He just stared, then blinked when a brief stint of confusion seem to take hold. Then it was gone.

In her relief, Stella said nothing to the paramedics, but didn't have to when they took notice on their own.

" Mr. Messer?" the brown-haired paramedic said. " Mr. Messer, if you can, try to keep your eyes open. Stay with us here. We're taking you to the hospital..."

Danny looked from Stella to the paramedic, then back to Stella. Stella could have sworn Danny's impression of the situation to be old news to him. Stella smiled.

" Hey Danny."

Danny blinked, the most reaction he could give at the moment. Stella couldn't stop the smile spreading on her face. She really was amazed. It never ceased to astonish Stella the punishments people could survive. When it came to survival, some people would fight like dogs to maintain it – Danny fought like a rabid pit-bull. He should be dead, it was as simple as that. The beatings, being impaled, the extreme cold – not an easy thing to fight against, especially with an already weakened body. But Danny was stubborn, so stubborn that another beating could be tacked on, coupled with a gunshot wound, and Danny would still be breathing with his eyes open.

Stella really did have no reason to be afraid for him. Her eyes drifted to his hands that were red, bruised, and swollen at the knuckles, and she had to clamp her jaws tight to keep from laughing. She reached out and laid her hand on Danny's wrist with a reassuring squeeze.

" Danny," she said, still biting back a laugh. " You're gonna be all right. And when you're out of the hospital... I'm kicking your ass for scaring the hell out of me!"

CSINY

The portable floor lights pushed the room's darkness back into the farthest corners, unveiling every scrape in the dust and blood drop the naked eye could distinguish. It was the blood that did the most story-telling; pooled on the floor, dripping every four minutes from the metal bar, and - the kicker – leading away from the small puddle in the form of a single footprint.

Mac still retained the scissors now safely preserved in a plastic bag he tapped against his thigh. He was anxious to process, but reluctant to leave the scene until it had told him all it could by sight alone. Lindsey snapped off pictures of the blood pool and footprints, as Hawkes was left with the painstaking task of swabbing every iota of blood there was to find. But Hawkes' bottom-less pit of patience was what made him suitable for pouring over the minor details most CSIs tended to grumble about. The man lived for minor details.

Lindsey moved over to the metal bar sticking out of the wall, and the color vanished from her face. Swallowing, she looked at Mac.

" Was Danny...?"

Mac moved his eyes to the bar, then the pool of blood on the floor. When he looked back at Lindsey, he nodded. " Looks like it."

Her camera flashed, then she lowered it. " How do you survive something like that?"

In which Hawkes replied, " You'd have a much better chance of surviving being impaled than being shot. Less damage caused, especially if no organs were damaged along the way." His tone was matter-of-fact, but his expression was pure concern.

Lindsey took another picture. " Do we... um... take it back with us?"

" I've got a hack saw," Hawkes said.

Mac thought about it. " Yeah, bring it in when you're done here." He lifted the bag holding the scissors. " I'm heading back to the lab. You good here?"

Lindsey, fixated on the still dripping metal, nodded.

" We're good," Hawkes said.

Mac was still reluctant. He had an itch to do something more hands-on at the scene. But he knew that all that he really needed was what covered the scissors. So he pulled himself away from the room and headed out into the biting cold of an increasing twilight. His breath rose in snaking tendrils in front of his face, highlighted by the flashing lights of police cars. He headed over to Flack talking to one of the uniforms.

" I'm heading back," Mac said. Flack turned.

" Already?"

Mac held up the bag as an answer. " Lindsey and Hawkes are still inside. You sticking around?"

" Like glue."

" Good. Listen, when the opportunity comes to talk to Danny, I want you to take the statement. And we're going to need an officer with him at all times."

" You tell Stella?"

" Don't need to. She'll already know. But I want you in charge of making sure Danny – and his dad – stay safe. The situation isn't going to be good from here on in, and I only want people I trust handling things."

Flack went rigid. " Why? What'd you thinks going to happen?"

" Probably nothing, especially once we get done here. I just don't want to take any chances."

With that said, Mac headed to the car.

CSINY

Life really did have a way of coming full circle. The past months might as well have been a dream, and Calvin was still at the hospital waiting for news on Danny who'd been hit by a car.

He paced, since there wasn't much else he could do, sitting especially. He was really starting to hate hospitals. It was like the building itself had it in for his son. Hell, the entire city of New York seemed out for his blood. Or maybe it was the other way around, and good-fortune refused to give Danny so much as a twitch of a smirk.

Stella was the poster child of patience. She was sitting, arms folded, staring at the floor. Maybe it wasn't patience Calvin was seeing, but some sort of shock. After all, it was her coat covered in Danny's blood this time rather than her pants. Yet she'd been perfectly calm on explaining Danny's injuries as best she could, and her unwavering certainty that Danny would be fine had actually quelled some of Calvin's frenetic panic.

Apparently, he had missed something, because he couldn't explain Stella's unflappable surety that things weren't as bad as they seemed. He'd only caught a brief glimpse of his son being wheeled in, and on seeing all that blood, he couldn't understand how anything could be _okay_.

His son's heart had stopped. Stella had told him in a hesitant, uncertain way, and nearly faltered on doing so, the only moment she had. How could anything be _okay_? His son had been dead, _dead_! If it hadn't been for Stella...

Calvin couldn't go there. He was really starting to owe this woman in a way that he could never pay back.

" Mr. Messer? Miss Bonesera?"

Cal snapped his head up, as did Stella, both staring tensely at Dr. Rennolds. The woman seemed to be wearing a mask of stoicism, and it was pissing Cal off.

" What, what is it? What's going on? How's Danny?" he asked, practically stalking up to her. The woman wasn't easily cowed.

" He's stable. And considering all that he's been through – I've got to say, he's incredibly lucky."

Cal had it hand it to the woman, she knew what not to hold back.

" Come with me," she said. She led the way down the hall, but to Cal's annoyance not to where they were keeping Danny. They went into another room with a lighted board covered in X-rays. She stopped before the board and rapped a knuckle on a chest X-ray with hair-thin lines on two ribs, and three others completely misaligned.

" When I say _lucky_, I mean it. Whatever impaled him went through the back, missing the vertebrae, lungs, esophagus, and trachea by inches. Besides torn tissue, the only other damage was a nicked rib. It was small enough to miss everything. A few of his ribs have re-broken, and several others are cracked, he has a fractured wrist, and the stitches in his back were pulled loose. Right now our main concern is blood-loss and increasing congestion in his lungs coupled with near hypothermia. But the fact that he was conscious when he was brought in has us hopeful..."

" When can we see him?" Cal interrupted. " I mean, can we?"

" Soon. We're still finishing a few things up. But it shouldn't be long before he's out."

Cal wanted to argue, but was never given the chance when Stella nodded and led him out by the arm.

" Thank you, Dr. Rennolds," Stella said on heading out.

" Yeah, thanks," Cal replied numbly. He didn't say much else as he returned to pacing slowly. He found the doctors optimism strange, out of place to the damage horror story she'd just told. It was a far cry from the damage inflicted by the car, but no less vile.

Danny had been impaled. Just thinking the words made Cal's gut churn uncomfortably. He was also congested. _The infection? Danny just got over that! The antibiotics were supposed to keep it from coming back!_ Images of Danny struggling for breath, and the panic it caused him, filled Cal's brain like mud until he couldn't think of anything else. That was how it had been for Danny; coughing fits that ripped him to pieces with pain.

Cal swore, over and over, that if Danny ended up having to live through that again, someone was going to pay.

_You're dead, Quinn!_

Daylight crept in on Cal, and turning in his pace, he halted in alarm at seeing the sky lighting up into a slate-gray dawn threatening snow.

" Mr. Messer?"

Cal whirled around to see Dr. Rennolds smiling slightly at him.

" You can see him now."

Cal, now shocked, looked from the doctor to Stella. Stella was smiling at him.

" I think this is supposed to be a private moment," Stella said.

Call looked back at Dr. Rennolds. " Um, yeah." He followed her as she led the way through the halls to the room where they'd taken Danny.

" Normally we would wait – until the patient has woken up," Rennolds said. " But it looks like your son wasn't too happy about being unconscious. He woke up the moment we brought him into recovery. I don't think it'll last, though. Your son's exhausted."

The room was dimly lit on entering to accommodate those recoveries trying to sleep in neighboring beds. A small light above where Danny was laying was on, pouring weakly over his slightly turned head facing the door. Cal doubted that Danny would look any better in the full light. Sunken-eyed, corpse pale, and struggling to keep his eyes open – all familiar to Cal. On hearing the heart monitor, he recalled times when he would tap his finger to its rhythm while waiting for Danny to wake up. A bag of blood hung from a pole, dripping blood into the thin red tub snaking down to Danny's hand resting by his side.

The moment his eyes fell on Danny, Cal hurried over to him. He wanted to grab one of Danny's hands – to feel flesh and bone, and assure himself that it was him – but his right hand was covered by a plastic splint, and his left held the I.V. So he settled for placing his hand on Danny's shoulder.

Cal cleared his throat. Danny looked like hell. _Are those bruises on his face?_ _A split lip? Is he shivering?_ Danny was covered in an electric blanket radiating heat that even Cal could feel, and Danny was still shivering from cold. Or was it more than cold?

" Hey kid..." Cal began, only to choke on an emerging sob. His eyes burned with tears. He was going to cry. He _wanted_ to cry. He wanted to gather Danny to him, as he had when Danny was ten, and hold on. He wanted to scream – at himself – until his throat was rubbed raw and hoarse. This was his fault, all his fault. He wanted to kill the Quinns, every last one of them. He wanted to pound Mickey for giving him that evidence. He wanted to pound _himself_ for taking it.

_You and your damn lack of a spine, Messer. You just couldn't say no, couldn't turn away. _A single, heated tear rolled down the lines of Cal's face until it dropped from his chin. _Look what they did. Look what they did to him! They killed him! He was dead!_

It may have been only for minutes, maybe even less than minutes, but in that brief space of time Danny had been dead. And Cal wondered, _had it been an eternity for Danny?_

Danny let out a small cough that made him wince, and it took a full minute before he opened his eyes again. He sucked in a ragged breath.

" Dad?" his hoarse voice was soft to being barely audible, and Cal had to crouch and lean in to hear.

" Yeah, kid, it's me. I'm right here."

What happened next alarmed and amazed Cal. Danny lifted his trembling left hand with an effort that seemed almost painful, high enough to drop it around Cal's neck. Then Cal felt pressure around his neck when Danny used it to begin pulling himself up.

" Danny!" Cal yelped. Danny not only got his head off the pillow, but his upper back off the bed, and leaned in just a little to look Cal right in the face with fever-bright eyes.

" T-tell..." he began, panting. Cal moved his arm across Danny's back for support.

" What?" he said, and tilted his head in toward Danny so that Danny was speaking directly into his ear.

" Tell... M-Mac... S-Stella... One of them. Jack Quinn. He did this."

Cal's eyes widened. _Should have known._

" Yeah, kid, I'll tell them. Just – just lay back down."

Cal tried to ease his son back onto the bed, only to have Danny grip the shoulder of his coat, and the arm to tighten, pulling Danny and Cal closer until Danny was right up against the senior Messer. Cal's first thought was that Danny was trying to sit up, even get out of bed.

" Danny, what..."

Then Danny's head dropped onto Cal's shoulder as though too heavy to hold up. Twitches and shudders wracked his son's body, and Cal heard the quiet, gasping, sporadic inhalations of silent weeping. Cal tightened his hold on Danny, wrapping his other arm around his son's twitching back.

" It's okay, Danny," Cal said softly, gripping the cloth of the hospital gown. He doubted if he had the capability to let go. He didn't want to. " It's okay. You're okay kid."

Danny sniffed, then coughed, and said in a choked, muffled voice, " You gonna be here, pop?"

Cal wanted to tighten the embrace, but knew it would only hurt Danny. " Yeah, kid. I'm not going anywhere, I swear."

Danny physically relaxed, as though something were draining from him. But Cal held onto his son for a few more minutes.

CSINY

Danny was out, his eyes closed, his breathing soft and steady. But, true to his word, Calvin remained, watching his son sleep. Stella had come in moments ago, informing Cal that a uniformed police officer was standing watch outside the room, and the moment that Danny was awake and ready to talk, Cal was to tell the officer.

Cal passed on Danny's little message about Jack to Stella, and Stella was out of the room within seconds to relay everything to Mac. So, once again, Cal was left alone with his son. The silence gave him time to think. Watching Danny – his slight winces and twitches of pain – made him come to a decision.

Danny had been dead. Not officially, not permanently, but his heart had stopped. That meant something.

A line had been crossed. Cal had to do something about that.

CSINY

A/N: One more chappy to go, then maybe an epilogue. You know, writing this chapter actually made me kind of misty eyed. And would Danny be conscious after all he went through? I can't say. But, hey, he's a stubborn, tough guy, so it seems plausible. For the sake of the story, put up with it being plausible.


	21. Ch 20

Ch. 20

" I told you," Jack said for the third time. " We were just talkin', then Danny freaked, and Al went after Danny with a knife. I was just tryin' to help the guy, that's all. Why he went all ballistic on me, I have no idea..."

Mac narrowed his eyes. " Probably didn't help that you were chasing after him."

Jack rolled his eyes and jerked himself back against the rest of his seat. Mac leaned forward, with Flack pacing like a caged tiger behind him.

" I told you!" Jack said, throwing his hands up. " That second time around I was just tryin' for another talk, but he doesn't give me the chance. Instead he attacks _me_ and takes off. I was goin' after him to stop him, it was freezin' cold out. Sorry if it looked wrong to those guys at the court, but that's what was goin' down. Your boy Messer panicked. And if you ask me, that don't seem right with him being one of you and all. Aren't you guys supposed to be all cool and collect?"

Flack whirled around and slammed his hands on the table, leaning in. " Well we didn't ask you, Jack. We asked you why the hell you left _Danny to die!_"

" That wasn't me!" Jack practically snarled. " It was probably Al. The guy's a freakin' junky. Why haven't you dragged him in yet?"

Mac replied, " Because Danny was fairly insistent that it was you in that room."

Jack sighed and shook his head. " The guy's lost it..."

Mac cocked an eyebrow. Jack's nonchalant acting was superb, but it didn't hide the slight twitches in the face and point second slips of the facade that told Mac the man knew he was screwed. The point would be driven home once Mac started talking about the evidence, but he waited, dragging it out, getting Jack to sweat before dropping the bomb.

" You were seen at the hospital, seen pursuing Danny," Mac stated calmly. " And seeing as how you failed to 'help him' as you claim you were doing, it's kind of hard not to look at all this as what it was – attempted murder."

Jack dropped his head, shaking it, while snorting out a bitter laugh. " You guys are a riot." Then his head snapped up with eyes blazing. " It's freakin' circumstantial, pal."

" Not the evidence," Mac said at last. " You may have cleaned your shoe, but the print matches the size and make. And there was plenty of blood to work with. Most of it, I'm pretty sure," Mac gestured to Jack's bandaged hand, " not belonging to Danny."

Jack's jaw tensed, and his throat moved in a tight swallow. Then he snorted out another laugh, this one half-hearted and forced.

" Hey, just because that little psychotic SOB tried to do me in doesn't mean I'm guilty of somethin' except bein' a good Samaritan. I tried to help him, man, but he wouldn't let me."

Flack straightened with hands on hips. " So you just left him to die."

Jack shrugged. " He didn't give me much of a choice."

" That's not how he tells it," Flack said. " Had a little chat with him this morning. He says you stepped on him."

Jack chuckled. " What!"

" He was down, and you just stood there," Flack went on. " Then you put your foot on him. What's up with that, huh? Wasn't enough blood for you or somethin'? The man was down; I'd say you'd missed the perfect opportunity to 'help'."

Jack, his face twisted in disgust, shook his head. " Circumstantial..." but he was grasping for straws now.

" You left him there to die, Jack," Mac said. Jack just glared at him.

CSINY

Mac was feeling vindictive. Not a usual trait for him, but he saw no point in dismissing it. Sitting in his office, he looked over the DNA results and didn't even try to suppress a small grin. DNA samples swabbed from Jack matched several samples from the blood drops found at the scene. He was there. Danny may have been blind in the dark, but he did what needed to be done to place Jack at the spot.

Now the trick lay in getting the court to see what Jack did as attempted murder and not aggravated assault, which is what Jack's lawyer would push for. Less time involved there. Danny's condition, previous and now, would do to play the sympathies of the jury. That still didn't guarantee Jack being put away for a long time. Then there was the Quinn moral code of ethics to worry about – family first, and everyone else to hell, to put it simply. Jack's dad might try something to keep Danny quiet, maybe even go as far as ensuring that Danny never left the hospital alive. The wrong medication, paying off some desperate nurse to induce a coma or heart attack, it wouldn't take much. Yes, it sounded way too cliché, too movie-like, but stuff like that did have a way of worming into reality.

There came a soft knock on Mac's door. Mac dropped the results folder onto his desk and looked up.

" Come in," he said.

The door opened revealing Calvin Messer, standing rigidly, his fingers thrumming on what looked to be a black video cassette.

" Mr. Messer," Mac said, and waved him in.

Calvin approached the desk in the stiff manner of hesitancy. " Call me Cal."

" Cal." Mac's eyes flicked to the tape. " What brings you by?"

Cal held the tape up. " A decision." He then held the tape out for Mac to take. " One I just came to. I think you should have it."

Mac took the tape and studied it over. There was no label, and it wasn't rewound. Realization hit Mac quick as lightening. He looked back at Calvin uncertainly.

" Is this...?"

Cal grimaced. " The bane of the Messer existence. The very thing that may take a Quinn down, hopefully for good. I was debating on whether to give it to Stevenson, but... It just felt right handing it over to you. You're Danny's boss, he trusts you, and right now we need people who we can trust."

Mac set the tape on his desk and leaned back in his chair. " What do you expect me to do with this?"

Cal shrugged. " Whatever you want, as long as it involves making those bastards pay for what they did to my kid."

" What about the danger involved? Won't they come after you, or Danny?"

Cal averted his gaze to the floor, gathering his thoughts and choosing his words. When he looked up, Mac saw unwavering resolve etched in every line of the man's face, and the flash of fury in his eyes.

" Danny was dead. It may have only been for a few seconds or minutes or whatever, but his heart _had_ stopped. And, in that time, a Quinn had killed him. Jack went too far. You see, Mac, I won't deny that I've done some business with Mel Quinn. I know him, I know his kid... I know Jack tends to sacrifice common sense just to dish out the violence. And I know Mel gets tired of cleaning up his messes. With what happened to Danny, combined with what you find on that tape, Mel's goin' to be makin' himself rather scarce."

Mel let out a caustic chuckle, so humorless it sounded hateful. " And all it took was Danny dieing for a few seconds."

Mac studied Cal. For all Mac knew, the man's judgment had been clouded by anger, and giving up the tape was a rash decision he needed more time to think over.

Mac slid the tape back toward Cal. " Maybe you should hold onto this until you're absolutely sure..."

Cal's head shot up. " I am. I'm positive. Look, I know this may sound technical, but the threat was made toward me giving the tape to the Feds. Nothin' was said about handing it over to regular cops. Look, I'm trustin' you, so you need to trust me. I know what I'm doing. With what Jack did to Danny, they won't come near him. They won't take the chance. They screwed me, so I get to screw them. They knew this. They knew that if anything happened to Danny, I'd hand this tape over. You use that tape, convict Jack for what he did to Danny, and they won't come near us. _Ever_."

Mac remained silent, wanting to debate, to force Cal to reconsider. But Cal's resolve was sealed.

Mac tapped the tape with his finger. " You know what's on here?"

A slow smirk spread on Cal's face and he lifted a shoulder in a shrug. " I might have taken a peek."

" And it can be used against Jack?"

" Definitely." Then Cal stood. " Listen, I'm probably screwing myself over doin' this, but I don't care. Use what you find, give it to the Feds, I don't care. I don't want it, and if it can help sink Jack for good, all the better. I'm done with this crap."

Then Cal left before Mac could say anything further. Mac looked at the tape. It would be playing with fire just to watch it. But to hand it over to Stevenson would mean never seeing it, never knowing how it could be used to help Danny and his dad.

And since Cal had given it to Mac, it was officially the department's until the Feds made a demand for it.

Finalized, Mac grabbed the tape and headed from his office.

CSINY

" You've gotta be kidding," Stella said. Her expression was mirror-imaged to the expressions of the rest of the team gathered in the dark room. It was as though they'd all just walked in on someone about to be murdered – although maybe not as extreme, especially when Stella grinned.

What they were seeing was indeed a shock in more ways than one. It was surveillance – of the junkyard entrance. There was no sound, only black and white imagery of a truck with _Cassio's _printed on the side. It pulled into the yard, then pulled out ten minutes later. The date and time on the footage was the estimated death of Gerard, and Mac could almost discern a face within the window of the truck. A little enhancing, and they'd finally have a suspect.

Stella shook her head. " I can't believe they'd be stupid enough to use a truck from their own restaurant."

" They probably didn't think a junk yard would have security cameras," Mac replied. His question was how Cal ended up with this footage, a question the court would ask when trial time came. But, chances were, the tape would end up in agent Stevenson's hands, and Cal would be forced to answer the question whether he liked it or not. Yet if Cal was so willing to hand the evidence over, he was probably on the verge of testifying as well. The man was pissed, ready to take the entire Quinn clan down if he could.

" We need a clearer shot of whoever's driving that truck," Mac said.

" Think it'll be our man Jack?" Flack asked.

" Probably not. Jack may make mistakes, it doesn't mean he's always careless. But one thing can lead to another. We have the bullet that killed Gerard. Maybe Jack has the gun, and this footage could be enough to get a warrant to search his place if whoever's driving can be connected to him."

" On it," Stella said, and sounded rather cheery about it.

CSINY

Al Moran, the man Jack was so bent on pinning everything to, was the mystery driver of the truck. His continual presence around Jack aided in scrounging the required warrant to search Jack's home.

And a nice home it was, situated in the kind of neighborhood that required a kind of membership to live in, and closed off by a gate to those who didn't belong. Jack's place was two stories, and spacious right down to the closets. The furnishings, even artwork, had a kind of black and white theme going on, and any color manifesting in the place was subdued, hardly existent.

Stella had a better word to describe Jack's taste – sterile, like a brand new hospital. It was clean, seemingly untouched, and would probably remain that way if Jack was the kind of guy who spent the majority of his life anywhere but home, which seemed to be the case. Home was more of a place he entertained at rather than lived in.

They turned Jack's home inside out looking for the single weapon, and came up with ten. Not just automatics but smaller handguns – the kind meant to be concealed – and more heavy-duty fire power like a semi-automatic rifle. Apparently, Jack liked to pack as much heat as he could, and didn't play favorites. He even had a pellet gun, either procured from his childhood or kept around for kicks.

There were knives too – hunting knives, swiss army, switch blades. None of which sported any hidden blood in the handles or etchings.

As for the desired weapon - an automatic much like the one Stella carried - as though to be ironic or hold out being unique, it was the last weapon they found hidden under a floorboard that would have been overlooked had Flack not been standing on it. It was the only floorboard that squeaked when pressure was applied.

With the weapon found, the next step was to hunt down Al. Flack led that posse, while Stella, Lindsey, and Hawkes went to the dope-addicts apartment.

Al's place was a far cry from Jack's. Small, dirty, with water-stained walls, discarded food boxes everywhere, and a smell that made the air torture to breathe. Searching through it was like dumpster diving, but Stella was willing to bet her career that a dumpster was more sanitary. They found little by way of anything useful. Then Flack called, saying they had Al – and his car – in custody.

Al, however, needed time to come down from his recent weed bender, so Stella settled for searching the car now impounded in the garage.

Dressed in the issued coveralls that made Stella feel like a mechanic, she, Lindsey, and Hawkes went through the car with everything they had. Supposedly, from the way Flack had described it, it seemed Al had been in quite the hurry – trying to bail, no doubt – but his narcotic trip had severely impaired his sense of direction, sending him off the road and onto the sidewalk. No one was hurt, thankfully, but Flack had been ready to pistol whip the guy, the way he was freaking out, rambling on about how he had to get away before Jack found out he was gone.

_He's screwed_, Stella thought with a smirk as she scrutinized the outside of the car. It was black, but fading to gray on a few sides, with the passenger door more of a blue than black, probably replaced. The bumper on the driver's side was bent and ragged, which alone kept drawing Stella back to it. They were searching for the knife Al used to slice open Danny's back, or at least signs that it had been somewhere in the car. Doubts were high that Al had been anywhere near the knife long after it was used to cut Danny. If Al hadn't disposed of it, then one of the other Quinn cronies had taken the liberty of doing so.

And still Stella was called back to that bumper. Finally, giving into whatever lure the ragged piece of metal had on her, she knelt before it, leaning in for a closer look. She found small bits of thread caught on some of the more jagged edges, so pulled them off with a tweezer. She saw something within the nooks, something dry and dark, so swabbed it. Going by instinct, she tested for blood.

The swab turned pink.

" Hey," she said to anyone who was listening. " I think Al's car may have left behind a little roadkill."

Another test, slightly more involved than the first, determined if the blood was human or animal.

It was human. Stella started in alarm.

" Okay, scratch that. The car may have been involved in a homicide..."

A kind of epiphany struck Stella like a sledgehammer to the face, so hard that her mined reeled with the implications – the impossible irony – of what it was she was looking at.

" No way," she breathed, looking even more closely at the bumper. She felt someone step up, then crouch, beside her.

" Al hit someone?" Lindsey asked. Stella nodded numbly. She then snatched another swab, taking another sample of the blood.

" We need to get DNA from this," she said, taking another swab and another sample.

Lindsey furrowed her brow. " And compare it with who?"

Stella handed the swabs to Lindsey. " Danny."

Lindsey's eyes went wide. " What? Danny? You don't think... I mean, that was almost two months ago..."

" That heat wave didn't last long. The cold hit fast and hard. The blood caught in the dents and bends would have been well preserved in the cold." Stella placed her hand on the jagged bumper, pressing until the sharp ends bit into her hand enough to tell her just how sharp they were. They were like spikes, very capable of ripping flesh from bone. " This car hit someone."

" And you're betting it's Danny?"

Stella grinned. " I'll stake my career on it."

CSINY

Stella couldn't stop smiling. In fact, she felt inches away from laughing. It was probably an odd sight to see as she made her way through the halls to where they were keeping Danny. Most people tended not to be so bright and chipper in a hospital. The more dominant moods were either extreme worry, sorrow, or tearful joy. To be simply 'happy', as though the day were bright and sunny despite the fact that it was snowing outside, had to look surreal.

But Stella had every reason to be smirking like a cat after having caught the mouse. Because they had caught the mouse, two mice to be exact. And being able to tell Danny had become the hi-light of her day.

On entering the room, her smile faded some. Not entirely, but enough to be more appropriate for the setting. Stella knew that nothing felt more patronizing to someone infirm than a person grinning from ear to ear, feeling like a million bucks and wanting everyone to know it.

It was hard to see Danny buried under so many blankets pulled all the way up to nearly cover his face. In fact, two of them _were_ covering his face so that only the top of his head was visible. Granted, it was probably warmer, but Stella grimaced on imagining how hard it must be for him to be able to breathe under that.

Apparently he didn't seem to mind, or he wouldn't have been covered in the first place. Cold had become a constant companion for him – the result of hypothermia as well as the return of a lesser infection – and he'd been having difficulty keeping warm. But hypothermia didn't last forever, and the infection was an infant compared to the monster that had ravaged him not too long ago. He would be fine, the doctor had said so, wearing a genuine smile on being able to.

Stella slowed as she approached the bed, and carefully lifted the edges of the two blankets covering Danny's head. He was on his side, not completely but enough to be able to curl up, and scrunched his face against the assault of light. He even lifted his hand to cover his eyes.

" What the hell?" he mumbled. There was a bit of color to his face, not a lot, but enough to make him simply pale rather than spook-white. The I.V. of blood had been replaced with a regular I.V., and instead of a drafty, humiliating hospital gown, he was wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt and black sweats – probably with socks, but Stella couldn't see that far under the covers. The only reason he was in the hospital was so that the doctors could keep an eye on the infection and make sure it didn't become anything full-blown.

" Hey Messer," Stella said, moving the covers down around Danny's neck.

Danny's eyes opened, blinked several times, then squinted at Stella. He replied in a soft, hoarse voice, " Hey Stel."

Stella gave him an apologetic wince. " Sorry if I woke you up."

Danny sighed. " Can't sleep forever." Although he seemed ready – and more than willing – to slip back into happy-land oblivion. It made Stella tired just watching him trying to keep his eyes open.

" Well, no one blames you if you do. Up for a little news?"

Danny coughed, then cleared his throat. " Good or bad?"

" Very good."

" Then bring it."

" Jack is going down."

Danny closed his eyes, pulling the covers up to his chin, but not before Stella caught the fleeting smirk.

" 'Bout time."

Stella smirked back. " You really know how to leave a useful crime scene, Messer. We actually got him on two accounts. One for attempting to kill you. The other for killing Gerard."

At this, Danny's eyes snapped open. " Jack killed Gerard?"

" So says the evidence. Found the murder weapon in his place, the truck used to haul Gerard's corpse was from his dad's restaurant..." At this point, Stella fumbled. The break in the case had been Cal's piece of misery-causing evidence. The thing was, Cal didn't want Danny to know that Cal had handed the tape over. Not yet. Not until Danny was back on his feet. Cal didn't want the stress of it hindering Danny's return to health, even though – in truth – there was nothing left to stressed about. The Gerard deal, and Danny's near-death, when combined, would ensure Jack a nice long stay at the federal penitentiary. Two more misdeeds to add to the pile gathered against the Quinns – namely Jack and many of his cohorts.

" And of course the bullet matched the weapon," Stella continued. " I mean there's more, but... let's just say we have enough to put Jack away. Oh, and get this... You're gonna love this – or maybe get pissed, I don't know. Guess who we found?"

Danny narrowed his eyes. " Do I look like I'm up for guessing anything, Stel?"

Stella grinned. " Fine, spoil my fun. We found the guy who hit you."

Danny lifted his head an inch off the pillow. " You're kidding."

Stella shook her head. " Nope. Kind of a fluke really, and twisted. The guy who hit you is none other than dope-head himself – Al Moran."

Danny lifted his head even more. " What!" the heart monitor increased its beeping. " That freakin' crack smokin moron! _He hit me_!"

Stella grimaced. " Danny, relax, calm down or the nurse'll come in here and boot me out. Yes he hit you. We were looking for the knife he used to cut your back, I saw the bent bumper and... just... followed my gut. The blood I found was yours, as were the fibers from your shirt that night."

" So Jack...!"

" No!" Stella quickly amended. " No, Jack had nothing to do with it. Al had been stoned that night. At least that's what he said. He remembers hearing something thump and that's it."

" Obviously he wasn't so stoned he didn't remember," Danny spat viciously, dropping his head back onto the pillow, the monitor returning to its previous rhythm.

" Well, he mostly recalls _thinking_ that he might have hit something. He doesn't remember when, and definitely doesn't remember what. He just remembers hearing a sound because it freaked him out. That's what he told us, and we're inclined to believe him since he isn't that great of a liar. The thing is, Danny, we've officially killed two birds with one stone. Jack's out of your hair, Al's out of your hair... you might even say you're a free man, Danny."

Danny's gaze moved away from Stella to stare off into nothing. But it wasn't a vacant stare induced by medication. His brow was furrowed, and his focus was sharp, even in his meagerly hazed state.

" What?" Stella asked, troubled, feeling as though she might have said something wrong, or that her cheerfulness was out of place after all.

Danny's eyes returned to looking at her, imploringly, but also uncertainly. " Um, what about... I mean, if they have a case against Jack..." He looked away again. " My dad... he had to..."

Stella shook her head, unable to piece together Danny's fragmented point. It took her a moment to finally get what it was he was trying to say – or in truth ask. Mac had told her about it, and she only now recalled it.

Her features softened, and she smiled reassuringly at Danny. " Your dad's off the hook."

Simple, yet poignant enough, because something happened to Danny – another kind of complete drain, like something being siphoned from him, something that had been trying for so long to pull him down. The relief of its departure left him exhausted, but so at ease he seemed to melt into the bed. Even his heart rate decreased a notch, but not in a bad way.

Funny how stress could remain so invisible until it finally departed.

Danny closed his eyes, pulling the blanket back over his head, but Stella still spied the moisture gathering at the rims of his eyes.

" Thanks Stel," he sighed.

Stella felt her own surge of relief. It was a nice feeling, one she'd actually forgotten without realizing until now that she'd forgotten it, making it all the more powerful. " Any time, Danny."

CSINY

A/N: Epilogue, soon comes the epilogue. Then this story will be over! (sniff). If you found Al being the one who ran over Danny too coincidental... get used it. Life is odd, and odd stuff happens.


	22. Ch 21

A/N: I said there would be an epilogue. Can't end without an epilogue.

Epilogue

Danny's right arm seemed the eternal butt of being harangued. It was no longer in a sling – a sling no longer required – but his wrist was in a plaster cast rather than a simple splint. Much of it was his own fault, instigated when he'd beaten the snot out of Jack, then finalized when Jack had stepped on his wrist. In the long-view, it was a small price to pay. In fact, unlike the sling, the cast made him grin, being the reminder that it was.

The stitches were out of his side, but not his back or chest. He would have scars; nice massive scars with a massively amusing story behind them. Bandages still bound his ribs, holding them in place. They, too, seemed determined to forever give him grief.

At least his lungs had been more cooperative, and didn't allow infection a lasting presence.

Danny let out a contented breath from the passenger seat of his dad's car. They were driving through Manhattan, and traffic was being stubbornly slow, but Danny didn't personally mind. As much as he longed for a simple, motionless sit on his dad's couch, watching a game and eating normal food, the warmth of the car was a simple pleasure he wasn't about to brush aside.

Plus, it provided an ample opportunity for a little heart to heart with his pop. Not that staying at his dad's for the duration of his recovery wouldn't, but being confined to a car denied Calvin the excuse to drop a subject by leaving.

Danny had been waiting a long time to be able to talk to his dad. No more drug-induced hazes or short visiting hours to hinder now.

" So..." Danny began. " Off the hook?"

Cal craned his neck, trying to get a better view of the traffic ahead. He glanced at his son. " What?"

" Stella told me somethin' about the Feds and Quinns backin' off. What's up with that?"

Cal shrugged. " Feds got their case, Quinns are layin' low. Jack tossed his own butt in the fire messin' with you." When traffic ground to a halt all together, with horns blaring and people cursing, Cal turned to fully face his son.

" Why'd you run? From Jack, and the hospital? Why'd you risk your butt like that? Danny, you could've been killed. Hell, you almost were!"

Obviously, Cal had been waiting for this opportunity as well.

Danny's mouth turned up in a small smile. He'd been anticipating this moment. Maybe not quite so soon, but soon enough. Then he dropped his grin as he thought back, sifting through the collection of reasons that at one time had sounded plausible. But that was the problem with time, and being allowed time enough to ponder – it forced re-evaluations most would rather not explore.

Or admit.

But Danny was past placating his pride.

" I was scared," he stated flatly, then looked down at his hands, one bound in plaster and the other bruised at the knuckles.

" Of Jack?"

Danny curled the fingers of his left hand in a loose fist. He'd expected a stronger sensation of embarrassment at confessing this weakness. Instead, he felt neutral, as though waiting for the right moment to allow for humiliation.

" Of what he might do to me."

No humiliation, just a strong sense of irony that made him laugh softly. He held up both his hands. " Didn't save my skin, though, did it?"

Traffic started moving again, and Cal's gaze shot back and forth between the street and his son. " Yeah, I'd say so. Did you really think he was goin' to kill you? I mean, I know he almost did..."

Danny shook his head, then sighed, slumping further into the seat. " I didn't think he'd kill me. I knew he wasn't that stupid. I thought he'd – you know – do what he liked to do when we were kids. Hurt the hell out of me. I wasn't really thinkin' at the time, pop. It was kind of a snap decision thing. Last minute, giving into panic, fed up, scared stupid... idiotic action to take. I just... did it, without giving it much thought. I just needed to get away from him."

Danny looked abashedly at his dad, though he wasn't quite sure how the senior Messer was going to respond. He was startled to see his old man's head bobbing in a nod – of understanding?

" I don't blame you, kid. Jack's a sick minded SOB. He's goin' where he belongs; in a cage. Guy's a freakin' animal."

They both fell into silence for several long minutes. But Danny wasn't letting the conversation drop just yet. He'd been trying to formulate his phrasing carefully, but gave up to impatience and went for being blunt.

" Why'd you hand over the evidence?"

Again, silence. At first, Cal appeared to have been deaf to Danny's question. Then a smile slowly crept on the older face.

" Someone tell, or did you figure it out?"

" Figured it out the moment Stella said you were off the hook."

Cal chuckled. " Behold the great Danny Messer; quick as a cat, smart as a fox – and possibly psychic."

Danny smirked. " Come on, dad, I could have figured it out even if I was five years old. Handing that evidence over was the only way to get the Feds to back off. I just want to know why you did it? I mean, yeah Quinn's fate was pretty much sealed, but that wouldn't have stopped the other Quinns from gettin' pissed. Is it a Messer trait to do crazy things?"

Cal chuckled again. " Probably. Your mom always used to say somethin' like that." Then Cal's laughing died, and his smile faded.

" Danny," he began, turning a corner into more mobile traffic, " What I did..." He lifted a hand off the wheel, then dropped it back on. " I guess you could call it a heat of the moment deal. But don't ever say that I wasn't thinkin' straight at the time. I was, believe me. I was... I was sick of it, Danny, all this crap with the Quinns, Feds, evidence, one family goin' for the throats of another family..."

Danny watched his father, watched his expression go from stoicism, to worry, then to sadness.

" I was sick... of all the hell you were goin' through. What happened – _almost_ happened... it was like a wake up call, you know? _Hey, Messer, wake up. Forget everyone else and save your kid_. There's too many times to count when you needed saving and I didn't do it. I wasn't goin' to let what was happening now be one of these times. That evidence was all I had by way of doin' somethin' about what was happenin' to you. So I said 'to hell with it', thought it over, and found the loop hole to the whole thing – the loop you created with your idiotic act, allowing me to go through with _my_ idiotic act. Simple as that."

Danny stared at his father in alarm. Cal shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

" Apple and tree, Danny."

Danny smiled. " More like blood and water."

Calvin's brow wrinkled in confusion. " Huh?"

" You know. Blood's thicker than water? We were in it together, we got out of it together. We were worried to hell about eachother, and we acted because of it... Granted, _idiotically_. You've saved my butt plenty, pop. And even when you _couldn't_ – and I don't use that term randomly – you were still there. You knew, you realized, you understood. You didn't ignore when the bad stuff happened, and you tried your best to keep it from happening any more. You couldn't always save me, but at least you were around to make it better afterwards. You're makin' yourself sound like a failure pop. You're not. Not even close."

The smile returned. Hesitant, small, but given enough free reign to exist once again on Cal's face.

" You've gotta give yourself more credit than that, dad," Danny said.

Calvin removed one hand from the wheel to clasp it around the back of Danny's neck, giving him a gentle, affectionate squeeze.

" You're a good kid, Danny."

" I'm also too old for you to be callin' me 'kid'."

Cal shrugged. " Hey, you are a kid to me. And you'll forever be a kid – just one allowed to carry a badge and a gun. So, _kid_, get used to it."

Now it was Danny who shrugged. " It ain't so bad. Better a kid than an old man."

Calvin pointed a stiff finger at Danny. " Hey... low blow, kid."

" Suck it up old man."

Calvin placed his hand back on Danny's neck in a mock strangle. Calvin chuckled, and Danny snickered softly so as not to aggravate tender bones. Cal gave Danny's neck another small squeeze.

" Just do me a favor, kid," he said.

" Yeah?"

" Don't ever scare me like that again. You do, I'm kickin' your butt."

Danny smirked. " Get in line, pops."

The End

A/N: It's over! Wah! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you a million times over for reading and leaving so many wonderful, motivating, and amusing reviews. I hope you liked this epilogue, and that it works. Obviously you liked the story or would have said otherwise, and I'm glad you liked it. It was fun to write. Of course I mostly wrote it for myself since I felt the Danny abuse lacking in my other stories.

But now, I fear, I'm going to take a break from doing long CSINY Danny abuse stories. There may come the occasional one-shot as the fancy strikes me, but for the most part my many muses have lost their mojo for CSI – for now, I promise. In fact I may not be posting Fan fic for a while – for those of you who've read my other works. I have ideas, I'm just taking a break from Fan fic to work on my own stuff. I need to focus on getting published. That's right, I'm going to attempt getting one of my original works published, so I need to get it ready.

Anywhoms, thanks for reading and reviewing. T'was a pleasure to write. TTFN and all that jazz.


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